The Good Son
by eleni459
Summary: A back story on the Jennings family through the eyes of Tom.
1. 1952

Disclaimer: Characters you recognize from Dark Shadows belong to Dan Curtis Productions. All others slunk out of my imagination. All this is done in fun and I receive no money for this.

****

The Good Son

He tried to pay attention during the sermon, but the only thing that held his awareness was the pinch of his shiny black dress shoes against his pinky toe. There was no need to listen to the droning of the frail old minister; no one expected him to anyway. Each Sunday, his father would ask him what he had learned during church and he would never be able to answer. His mind seemed to go blank each time his father inquired, leaving him feeling stupid and slow. And he knew exactly what his father would say after his few failed stumbles. He would "tsk" softly as he shook his head. "Thomas, dear Thomas, what am I going to do with you? Why can't you be more like your brother?"

At that point, Tom would glance over toward his brother Chris. It usually took a minute for the boy to realize that he was being stared at, but the moment he noticed, he would quickly turn to his younger brother and stick out his tongue. This action was fast; if you didn't know that Chris was prone to such behavior, you would never catch him in the act. Of course, his parents didn't know that he did this, so they never caught their oldest as he taunted his brother. Tom knew that the moment he dared to respond would be the exact moment his parents looked back at him. They would catch him sticking out his tongue and they would see Chris staring into the well-worn pages of his book, looking the innocent angel to his brother's red devil. It was better just to ignore him and hope nothing happened to him once they return to their home.

Needless to say, Tom hated Sunday mornings.

••••••••••••••••••••

A 3-½ years age difference foreshadows strained sibling relations like little else. This held especially true for the Jennings brothers. At first sight, they looked astonishingly similar. Occasionally, they would be mistaken for twins, much to the brothers' mutual chagrin. "How could Mrs. Evans think we're twins?" Chris had once moaned. "I'm older and taller than that little pipsqueak!" Tom usually shrugged off such perceptions. He knew that he didn't hate his brother, but he couldn't be too sure of Chris' feelings for him. The older boy had nearly four shining years alone with his parents; Tom had ruined that by being conceived. Both brothers knew this fact and Chris had no qualms about reminding Tom of it at every available moment.

The usual fights between siblings took on a particularly physical turn with the brothers. Chris would regularly beat Tom to a pulp, occasionally accepting a helping hand from their cousin Joe. The younger boy couldn't take them on his own, so he usually let the beating proceed until both boys grew tired and went to find something else to do. Tom would then wander back to his house where his mother would be waiting with an ice pack and a bottle of iodine. She had probably seen the older boys running down the street and realized that they had once again pummeled her youngest to the ground. "You have to be careful of them, Thomas," she would whisper softly. "You can't let them do this to you every time they feel devious."

"But I can't hurt them," Tom would cry as he fell into his mother's warm arms. "I'll always be smaller than them and I'll always be the butt of their jokes. I'll never win!"

"Nonsense," she would reply. "You are a lovely, intelligent boy and you'll grow to be a lovely, intelligent young man. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Don't let anyone else make you feel low. Thomas, dear, you can't let anyone control your life."

••••••••••••••••••••

Besides his mother, Tom knew that he had one more ally: his grandmother Lenore. His mother's mother had lived with the family since Tom was only a few months old. Unlike Chris, Tom saw the old woman as a family asset and not as yet another interloper ruining his "perfect life." Lenore recognized this and gave her love in kind. She knew that Chris treated Tom badly and, for that reason, refused to speak to the boy unless someone else in the family was present. "Um . . . grandma, Chris wants to know why you don't talk to him," Tom had quietly asked Lenore.

Lenore coaxed Tom onto her lap and held him tightly. "I don't talk to him because he's such an unrepentant child."

"That's not what everyone else says. They all say that I'm bad because I'm not always quick like Chris and I'm not . . . "

"Stop it! What's with all the 'I'm nots?' Listen to me, Thomas, and listen well. I don't think that you're stupid and neither does your mother. I've seen the marks you get in school. You earn better grades than Chris did when he was your age. Did you know that?" He shook his head. "I thought not," she whispered coldly. "Your father is lax on showing you any praise. You're a slow learner (there's no shame in it), but once you get it down, you've got it for life. Chris had to constantly relearn things. You'd be surprised by how much he messes up."

Tom sat back in amazement as grandmother Lenore spoke his praise. Even his mother was weary of being this thoughtful. He was surprised that she had picked up on so much that had gone on around the house. He, like everyone else, had underestimated her. "But I don't get it," he murmured. "Why are you telling all this to me now?"

"Because I want you to know it." Lenore held her grandson even closer as she kissed his forehead. "I see good things in your future, Thomas. Promise me you'll always be a good boy and I tell you, all your dreams will come true."

"Yes, mam."


	2. 1960

'It'll be three kids now,' thought Tom as he sat in the waiting room. His mother lay in the delivery room, going through the pains of giving birth to her third child with none of her loved ones around her. From what the nurses told them, she was not having a good time with it. His father wanted to be with his wife, but the nurses insisted that he stay in the waiting room because he would be of "no use" to his wife. That insinuation sent him over the edge, and he left the building to walk off some steam. Since Chris, on winter break from college, had gone off with Joe to visit a friend, it was Tom's job to sit in the waiting room and linger for any word from the nurses. "Don't leave this post. If I find out that you did, you'll be in deep trouble. You understand?" Tom nodded frantically. Mr. Jennings nodded curtly and stormed off. Tom could only sigh once his father left the room. Although he would soon turn seventeen and was now tall enough to look his father in the eye, he continued to back down to him.

Tom resumed his seat in the nearly empty waiting room. The silence felt eerie. "This is a small town hospital," he murmured quietly. "Doesn't everybody come here? Shouldn't this place be crawling with bodies?"

"Well Tom Jennings, I didn't expect to see you here!"

Tom looked up quickly and smiled. Maggie Evans stood a few feet away from him, still dressed in her uniform and looking weary. It didn't matter to him; he always thought she looked lovely. Tom remembered when Chris, Joe, and Maggie palled around after school. They had seemed inseparable. Of course, the moment Chris went away to college, the holy triumvirate crumbled and Tom rarely saw any of them afterwards, especially his own brother. That had been three years ago. "Um . . . I'm a bit in shock myself," he managed to mumble. "What brings you here, Maggie?"

"Pop hurt himself. He's being held for observation. I just wanted to check up on him before I headed home. Why are you here?"

"Mom . . . baby . . . long story."

"Uh-huh? How's she doing?" Tom told Maggie exactly what the nurses had told him. "Ugh, that's horrible. Where's Chris during all of this? He's home for the holidays, isn't he?"

"He's out with Joe."

"You mean that he searched out Joe without bothering to look for me?" asked Maggie, her voice inflicted with faux anger. "Of all the . . . argh! Listen, do you want to go search with me for them?"

With thoughts of his father's orders (and extreme sibling hatred) dancing in his head, Tom politely declined. "Understood." Maggie glanced around the room quickly and took a seat next to Tom. Maggie giggled sweetly as she looked him over, taking her time to glance him up before her eyes met with his. "It's been so long since I've seen you. Well, not really but you were . . . what . . . thirteen when we last talked? You're older now and you don't look a thing like the boy who used to run from the Jennings/Haskell domination duo."

"Um . . . okay," mumbled Tom. Was she coming on to him?

"You have changed," she continued. "You're turning out to be quite the looker, if you don't mind me saying. You'll end up cuter than Chris, watch and see."

Tom broke the stare. 'Yep, she's coming on to me. She has to be tired to even think about doing something this silly!' He turned back to Maggie and said, "I don't think most people would agree with you."

"Most people are stupid." She leaned in and whispered, "Hey, I've heard that there's actually another diner in town. Isn't that a hoot! So, why don't you and I go get some coffee? I want to be waited on for once, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Tom actually contemplated leaving his post and following Maggie to go get coffee. What would people say? Probably nothing. He looked so much like Chris that they would just assume that he was his older brother. Besides, Maggie was only three years older than him. That wasn't ancient . . . not in the least. And she wanted him to come! He would be able to spend at least a half hour solely in her company. In just the brief moments that he lulled the proposition over, Tom came up with so many scenarios of this rendezvous, each one seeming a bit more ambitious than the last. He would be a fool not to go with her!

But once again his father's warning rung inside his head: "Don't leave this post. If I find out that you did, you'll be in deep trouble. You understand?" Tom understood loud and clear. No leaving the waiting room. No leaving the hospital. No leaving to drink coffee with a flirtatious woman. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but I've really got to stay here. Something might happen with mom and no one would be around to hear about it. You understand, don't you?"

"Absolutely." She jumped form her seat and sighed. She took his hand in hers, looking directly into his eyes as she said, "But you'll have to take me up on that some other time, okay?" Tom nodded, hoping not to seem to eager. Maggie smiled, and, with a pleasant goodbye, she left the waiting room. As she left, he heard her say, "Keep an eye on your kid brother. He's going to break hearts!"

A few seconds later, Chris wandered into the waiting room. From the look on his face, Tom could tell that Maggie's words had completely confused him. He laughed a little and asked, "Since when were you going to break hearts? You're not the pretty one."

Tom wanted to let his brother's insult roll away but he couldn't. Chris had mocked and degraded him for years. Maggie's small bit of flirtation was just the ego boost he desperately needed. He wasn't going to let his brother deride it and make it seem insignificant. Without thinking, Tom spat, "I became the pretty one when you decided to get that god awful haircut. Did you pay someone to do that or did you just hold your head too close to the blades of an electric fan?

Chris seemed taken aback for a moment. He recovered quickly however, and took the seat beside his brother. "Are you telling me that only a few little words from Ms Evans turned you into this King of Sarcasm that sits beside me? Really kid, your self esteem must be nothing." Chris looked ahead when he added, "You know, she's going with Joe to get some coffee."

Tom blinked. Had she forgotten him so quickly? And for Joe! Sure, the guy was a looker, but . . . God . . . Joe! His cousin made sheetrock seem intelligent. How would Maggie find any enjoyment with Joe? As much as it bothered him, Tom did his best not to let his disappointment show. "Why should I care? Maggie does what she wants."

Chris nodded. The doctor and a few nurses quickly ran into the waiting room. Tom noticed that Chris ran a hand through his hair as one of the nurses stared at him. He had made his unshakable brother feel self-conscious! Whatever else might happen later, that little show of insecurity was enough to make Tom's day.

••••••••••••••••••••

Amy Jennings was born on December 13, 1960. She was small, a little too small and had to be kept in an incubator for a while. Everyone did their best to comfort the mother and keep the baby as safe as possible. All were surprised by how considerate Tom was. They had always assumed that Chris was the nice, caring young man. He was at least the more outgoing of the two. Most had thought Tom to be more than a little shifty. His show of compassion was highly unexpected. While Tom stuck around to help care for both mom and baby, Chris headed back to school without bothering to make sure if everything was settled. "I told you," Lenore whispered to Tom on New Year's Eve. "They're going to all learn what a good boy you are. You'll prove yourself yet!"


	3. 1962

Tom wandered back home around 9:00 PM. They had finished work on the old Peterson place around five, but the other men had wanted Tom to join them for a drink. No one cared that he had just turned eighteen in January or that his parents probably expected him home before supper. "You're a working man, Jennings!" one of them had joked. "You can stand just a little." Tom didn't know what to think of being called a "working man," but he willingly accepted their hospitality. In a few months, he would be starting college. He only took jobs as a handyman to make extra money before heading off for school. When he told the others that he would be leaving small town life behind to search for something better, they laughed. "This is Collinsport, kid," one had said sympathetically. "There's not much room for change. You think you're going to learn something and get a great big job in the city, but the stakes are against you. You can't fight fate."

Tom humored them, but he knew deep down that he would get away. Joe might have become entangled in the small town's snare, but Chris had escaped. He recently graduated from college and he planned to be an architect. Tom thought that his brother would make a fine one but refused to tell him so. The silence between the two after the graduation ceremony had been horrendous. Friends attempted to get Tom to lighten up and speak to his brother, but he shied away from doing so, thinking that Chris didn't want him too close to him as his friends. His brother seemed so distant. Some chalked that distance up to whatever deep thoughts might be floating through the graduate's head. Tom knew Chris' head was muddled by either thoughts of the leggy redhead at the bar or plans on how to celebrate his quickly approaching 21st birthday. Either way, Tom let Chris be and only spoke to him before he left to go home.

Tom had been the first to leave, followed quickly by his mother, and much later by his father. Lenore had been too ill to attend. His father had stayed long enough so that he might adequately celebrate the achievement of his favorite son. Chris was the first member of the family known to have graduated from college. That mere fact dwarfed Tom's quickly approaching high school graduation. Tom would graduate in the top ten percent of his class. Of course, Chris had graduated just as high in his class, and in their father's eyes, that was the weightier feat. Tom wasn't jealous . . . not at all! He only wished that Chris would screw up once. For once in his life, he wanted to be recognized for existing. He highly doubted that it would happen.

As Tom crept back into the house, he noticed that the lights shown dimly from the living room. Everyone was usually in bed by nine. What could be going on? The moment he entered the room, all eyes settled onto him. The eyes he immediately searched out were those of Amy. The little girl sat on her mother's lap, her smile broadening as her big brother approached. They once thought that she would be some fragile flower, her health improved quickly and seemed to love touching all things that moved into her field of vision. She loved her brother Tom most of all. The beautiful girl laughed most in his presence and demanded him to play with her at least once a day. He spent his time with the girl early this morning, but he could tell that she wanted him to hold her now. She cooed as Tom took her into his arms and let her sit with him in the old rocking chair. He kissed Amy's nose and looked up. He was shocked by the way his mother, father, and Lenore stared at him. "What am I missing guys?"

His father cleared his throat and said, "I've got something to tell you . . . something about Chris."

Tom quietly sniffed as he ran his finger over Amy's small nose. "What's he done now? Stopped world hunger?"

"It's not like that. Chris is missing and has been since last week."

"Last week! And we're just finding this out!" Tom fell back into the rocking chair, careful to hold Amy close as the chair bucked. He looked back to his father and asked, "Do they have any idea what happened?"

"They don't really know. His room's a wreck. All of his things were just strewn around the place like someone had ransacked it looking for something."

"So the authorities think there was a struggle?"

"They don't know. They can't think of anyone that would want to harm Chris. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt your brother?"

Tom didn't know of anyone specific who would want to hurt Chris, but he knew of a few general things that would get him in trouble. Chris was quite a drinker and, on occasion, he was known to smoke something a little stronger than cigarettes. Rumor also had it that Chris was notoriously unfaithful to his many partners. He could have easily angered some anonymous brute that wanted to avenge his deflowered girlfriend of stolen stash. If Chris had been beaten up, he might have deserved it. Tom couldn't tell his father that, though. "Um . . . I don't know."

His father sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. They don't think it was someone else. They don't think anyone did anything to him. They think that he just left and that he was the one to ruin his room. Do you know why he would do such a thing?"

"I don't have a clue," mumbled Tom. In all honesty, he didn't know why Chris would have done such a thing. If anyone had the world by the throat, it was his brother. Chris could have anything he wanted. Why would he leave it all behind? Why wouldn't he call anyone and tell them where he was? It was too much to think about now. Tom politely excused himself and took Amy with him. He quietly put the girl to bed and slipped out the back door. He pulled one of the cigarettes he had accepted from one of his coworkers and lit up. A moment after he inhaled, he heard footsteps creep up behind him. He turned to see Lenore standing before him, leaning on her smooth wooden cane as if it were all that were keeping her up. "There's nothing more to say, grandma."

"He's gone," she whispered as she moved to stand next to Tom. He noticed the stilted way she moved now. When he looked into her face, he could see that the lines had deepened into her flesh, creating heavy folds in her once lovely visage. Lenore had always seemed so youthful to him. When did this change overtake her? When did she officially become old? "He's gone and he won't be coming back . . . at least not in my lifetime. This has really been a blow to your father."

"I can imagine. You can't believe how many times I've heard 'why can't you be more like your brother? Why can't you be like Chris?'"

"I know. Now they're depending on you."

"Huh?"

"You're leaving for school in a few weeks. I think this incident with Chris might have made him realize that you've always stuck around, that you're the one who's done what you were supposed to do and did it well."

"I'll never be respected in this family. It'll never happen."

"Just wait and see, Thomas. Just wait and see." Lenore kissed Tom's cheek and wandered back into the house.

Tom waited outside a bit longer, slowly smoking away and trying to contemplate what had happened this night. He squashed the cigarette butt and tossed it into the yard after making sure it was out. Horror filled his eyes as he noticed his father standing a few feet away. "It's not what you think," he mumbled frantically.

"It's no big deal, Tom. You're eighteen and you were smoking a cigarette. It could be much worse." He took a seat on the porch and stared out into the back yard. Tom wasn't even sure if his father remembered that he was there. His father finally looked over at his younger son, his wearied stare barely able to focus. "I can't believe he's gone. Why did he do this?"

"I don't know." Tom leaned against the railing, careful to keep his face emotionless and his hands burrowed into his pockets. He wanted to appear devastated, but he couldn't bring up the emotions. He felt some disappointment in his brother, but, in all truth, he didn't care what had happened to him. He didn't see a life without Christopher Jennings as being a bad thing. "We don't know what happened. It might not be something he cann't explain to us right now. He'll get in touch with us in his own time," he murmured.

"Maybe so, Tom, maybe so. I just don't now if I will want to talk to him when that time comes." He looked away, focusing his eyes back onto the expansive back yard. "He's hurt me. He's hurt me bad."

"I understand, dad."

"No you don't understand! You won't understand until you have kids of your own." He rose from his seat and joined Tom at the rail. They didn't touch; they didn't even look at one another. If they had, Tom would have moved to the seat. "I spent so much time with that boy," moaned his father. "I urged him on with everything that he did."

"I know," groaned Tom quietly.

"I praised the boy; I tried to make him feel like he was needed. I tried to give him what I didn't have from my father."

"Yeah, I know."

"You don't know shit, Tom," snapped his father. "You don't know anything about how Chris and I were."

"Of course I do! I was there!" yelled Tom. He moved away from his father and stood closer to the house. "I know how you treated Chris because I know how you didn't treat me. You treated him like a king and you treated me like a peasant. How do you think I felt? I've stuck around here; I've pulled my weight. Chris spent all his time playing around with his friends and then left us pretty damn quick for college, never bothering to return except when they closed down the dorms or when he ran out of money. Did you seem to care? No! You just gave him what he wanted without question. How did you think that made me feel?"

"I . . . I didn't realize that I did that," stuttered his father.

"I don't see how! You did it so blatantly."

His father only sighed. He moved closer to Tom but his son pulled away and headed toward the door. His father was able to reach him before he walked back into the house, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back out onto the porch. "I love you, Tom. I know I wasn't that great at saying it, but I do love you."

"You know, I can't figure out what you're more disappointed about: the fact that you lost Chris or that fact that I'm the son you're left with." With that, Tom pulled out of his father's grip and ran into the house. He didn't know how his father reacted to his last comment; he didn't care. He only wanted to get to his room and go to bed. On the way there, he heard crying from Amy's room. Carefully, Tom opened the door to see Amy sitting up in her crib. She was staring at her wall. It should be noted that he walls of her room were painted like the sky. One side of the room was painted to appear like day; the other was painted to appear as if it were night. It had taken quite awhile to prepare the room but it was accomplished before her birth. Tom was only glad that the girl seemed to like it. He picked up his sister and held her close to him. "Shh, honey. What's wrong?"

Amy's crying dulled to broken whimpers as she pointed a chubby finger toward the left wall. It looked to Tom as if she were pointing toward the large full moon on the facing wall. "Is it the moon bothering you, hon?" Amy cried and wrapped her arms around Tom's neck. He kissed her forehead and walked her toward the wall. He took one of her hands into his. He carefully made that hand touch the moon. "It won't hurt you, don't you see?" Amy pulled her hand away from his and began to wail. She wasn't getting the message.

Tom carried Amy with him to his room. He searched through his desk until he found a piece of dark construction paper and a roll of tape. He went back to her room and taped over the offending moon. Amy calmed instantly. Tom didn't understand it, but he had placated his sister. He kissed her forehead and waited around in her room until she fell asleep. He left her room and headed back to his. Tom didn't know what he was going to do about his family. He knew that his relationship with his father would be edgy. He was only glad that he would be leaving for college in a few weeks. He wouldn't have to deal with all the drama.


	4. 1964

Tom was pleasantly shocked by how well he thrived in college. Classes weren't half as hard as he had expected they would be and he had made friends easily. Everyone seemed to be instantly taken by the lovely shy boy who sat on the green each afternoon with a sketchbook and a pack of multicolored pencils hidden away in his satchel. "What 'cha drawing, Tommy?" they would all ask him. Tom would smile, shrug, and politely ask them not to call him "Tommy." Most of the time, he had no clue what he was drawing. He would look at the sketches later to find numerous abstract shapes, most of them all jagged edges and vivid, angry colors. Tom recognized that he had stores of anger hidden away in his system. He supposed that these odd doodles were his way of letting it all out.

Tom kept, as close contact with home was he thought he was able to manage. He rarely talked to his father; they had nothing to say to one another. Tom hadn't apologized for the things he had said to him before leaving for college. In all truth, he didn't feel sorry for saying them. He felt those things deeply, so deeply that they penetrated his core and, now, he would find life unrecognizable without those scars lying across his heart. He didn't hate his father, whose problem lay in that he had fallen into the praise trap. Many men and women had fallen into it and many more would fall in later. He had meant no harm; he had been naïve. Tom, however, cut his brother little slack. Chris had called the family once to prove to them that he was still alive. He refused to answer any of their questions and refused to apologize for abandoning them. Although he had begged their forgiveness for the worry he had caused, he resisted coming home or explaining why he fled. Chris was acting like a child, proving himself to be a complete idiot. Tom never wanted to see him again.

On one seemingly normal day during his second year of college, Tom returned to his room to find a prim looking woman sitting with his roommate, Chad Holliman. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Chad looked particularly devastated. Tom dropped his satchel by his desk and took a seat. "Um . . . I don't believe we've met?" he asked the woman quietly.

The woman nodded curtly and said, "My name is Veronica Buckley." She shook Tom's hand with a firm, stagnated grip. He thought she could have been pretty if she had just loosened up. "But that doesn't answer many questions for you, does it Mr. Jennings? I've come from Collinsport. I have some terrible news to tell you."

"Wh . . . what is it? Has anything happened to Amy? Grandma?" The looks on the other two's faces showed that he hadn't hit the right names yet. "Mom? Dad? Both! What happened?" yelped Tom as he attempted to rise from his chair.

Ms. Buckley ran up to him and pushed him back down into the chair. "Calm down, Mr. Jennings. There's nothing you can do now." She sighed and knelt in front of the seat, careful not the muss the hem of her skirt as she pulled both knees beneath her body. She took one of Tom's hands into both of hers, gripping it with warm conviction. She looked into his eyes and said, "There was an accident early this morning. Your parents were driving home when a truck rammed them from behind. Your father did his best to control the car, but he couldn't and the car ran into a large tree. The impact was massive. Your father died on impact and your mother only survived to the hospital. I hate to tell you this but your parents are dead. Do you hear me, Mr. Jennings?"

Tom didn't hear a word she said. Dead? His parents were dead? He had talked to his mother the night before. How could she be dead now? And his father! No, they weren't getting along as of the last time he had been home, but Tom had always believed that they would have had enough time to reconcile. Now they wouldn't have the chance to quarrel much less mend fences. The realization sent Tom into hysterics, wailing and writhing as if he couldn't control himself. Ms Buckley took him into her arms and held him to her. "Please calm yourself, Mr. Jennings," she whispered. "I say this not to be cruel but to be practical. Your grandmother is making the arrangements. She wants you to come home and I was sent to retrieve you."

"I hav . . . have ma . . . my own car," stuttered Tom as he pulled away from Ms Buckley.

"But you're in no condition to drive yourself home, are you?" Tom couldn't disagree with her. "Okay. Pack a bag and I'll be waiting downstairs to take you home." Ms Buckley's face crumbled for a moment and she took Tom's hand back into her own. "I am so sorry Mr. Jennings. I know that you must be taking this hard."

Tom nodded and watched as Ms Buckley left. The moment the door closed, he emptied out his satchel and began cramming it with clothes. Chad walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. Tom pulled away quickly, but turned back and murmured, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can have anyone touch me right now."

"Understood." Chad moved away and retook his seat. The room went silent for a few moments, each second feeling strained and heavy as the boys went about their business. Chad finally spoke up, saying, "Everything's going to be okay, ya know?"

"I know," mumbled Tom, who was now struggling to shove a pair of black dress shoes into his bag. He took them back out and stared at them, his contempt for the scuffed leather showing before he jammed them into his bag with a "Goddamn shoes" managing to escape his lips. Tom grabbed his keys from the counter and headed for the door. "See you later."

"Yeah." Chad paused before adding, "You are coming back, aren't you?"

"Sure. Wouldn't dream of staying away."

••••••••••••••••••••

Tom didn't want to see them, to view his parents lying still on their mortuary tables. He would be able to take the funeral; they would be clean and pressed, perfectly coifed for their trip to the great beyond. But now, now they were as the accident had left them. He knew that he couldn't take that. Yet he was more than ready to greet Amy when the nearly three year old ran into his arms. She was in tears, but Tom doubted that she understood much about the situation. Actually, he didn't want her to remember this. He looked up to see Lenore standing before them. The lines in her face had gone deeper, making her appear much older than she really was. God, what this most have done to her! Tom offered her his free arm and she gladly took hold of it. "How are you taking it?" she whispered.

"I'm not." He looked down at Amy and asked, "And how is this one?"

"As well as to be expected," moaned Lenore. "I don't know how to explain it to her. The local councilor told me a few things to say and I said them. I don't know what good they did but . . . "

"You did your best."

Lenore nodded. "It'll take awhile for her to realize what has happened."

"Yes, it will," sighed Tom.

"She'll be inconsolable."

"She will."

"God, what am I going to do without you?"

Tom looked up her oddly. "Who says I'm leaving?"

"You're going back to school."

"No I'm not!" Tom was shocked by the look that overtook his grandmother's face. She looked a mixture of disappointed and irate. They would have to talk. Ms Buckley wandered back into the room and Tom handed her Amy, telling her than he would b back in a minute. He turned to his grandmother, and, wordlessly, they headed outside. "I don't see what the problem is," he hissed carefully. "It's my life."

"That's what I'm afraid of," cried Lenore. "You have a life to live. You can't stay behind to take care of an old woman and a young girl."

"Well, that old woman just happens to be my grandmother and the young girl my sister. I can't leave you two alone at a time like this."

"I can take care of Amy."

"I don't think so," said Tom.

Lenore laughed, leaning against the wall to brace her featherweight body. For a moment, Tom thought she had grown younger. The lines had practically disappeared and her mannerisms had changed. She was trying to prove to him hat she wasn't her age. "I'm not that old."

"You're almost 70."

"In 3 years!"

"Precisely! Anything can happen in 3 years and I don't want to be miles away if it does."

Lenore frowned, allowing the age to creep back into her face and overtake it. Tom hated to see that look return. She glanced back up at him, tears filling her eyes, and asked, "I can't changed you mind?" He shook his head. "Okay. I'm glad to have you here, but God, I wanted so much better for you, Thomas."

"I'm with my family," said Tom, wrapping his grandmother in his arms as he spoke. "Where else am I supposed to be?"


	5. 1965

'Okay, this is creepy.' Tom stepped inside the house, alternately trying not to make a sound but doing his best to make his presence known to whomever might be inside. Tom was on a mission . . . well, on a job. Mr. Garringer, his boss, had given him an address with the explanation, "I normally take this job. The little twit needs to take better care of her wiring. Anyway, I think you can deal with it. You'll be paid double." At the time, that was all the explanation Tom needed. Money was always a great motivator. Although he knew the job would be interesting, he didn't expect the pleasant house at the end of the street to be empty. After knocking for at least five minutes, Tom noticed that the door was unlocked. Against his better judgment, he walked inside.

The house was well furnished, even if most of it was covered in a gossamer thin sheet of dust. The dark drapes were drawn, leaving all illumination to come from the rustic chandeliers. He thought it all looked lovely, like some sort of graceful home in need of a little cleaning to make it perfect.

Tom heard a sound emanate from the kitchen and he followed it. He glanced around the tan colored walls to find nothing. He turned around the see a woman standing in the archway. Her long legs were covered in tight pale denim. The left knee had blown out and she hadn't bothered to trim the frays, letting them grow into a ragged mess. She wore a faded flannel shirt with the first two buttons undone. Underneath, Tom could see a thin white t-shirt. Her face was freshly flushed and flawless, its lines being delicate and beautiful. Her hair color looked to be ash blonde, but he didn't assume it was. The room was much too dark to tell. Her eyes looked to be the palest of grays. Tom would have thought her gorgeous had she not been scowling and holding a baseball bat in her right hand. "Okay buster," she spat in a smooth, careful rasp, "you have 30 seconds to tell me who you are or you get to explain it to my Slugger. Got it?"

"Absolutely. I . . . I'm Tom Jennings," he stumbled. "I . . . I work for Garringer. You called him and he sent me here to fix your stuff."

"You don't work for Garringer," insisted the woman. "I've known Garringer forever. I know everyone who works for him. I don't believe you."

Tom didn't know what to say. He frantically dug through his pockets to find the directions that his boss had written out. He managed to unearth the note and hand it to the irate younger woman. He noticed that he had moved back a foot after handing her the note. Was he really so intimidated by a girl who couldn't be more than 20? She read the note and her face fell through once she finished. She looked up at Tom and whispered, "I'm so sorry. See . . . um . . . my step dad knows Mr. Garringer really well and that's why I know all the guys . . . well, practically all the guys . . . that work form him. You must be new."

"I've only worked there a little over a year."

"Oh . . . I was hoping that it would have been a shorter time. I'm so very sorry." The young woman stared at Tom a moment more before her already large eyes widened to extreme proportions. "Oh God," she cried, "I've made such a bad impression."

"It's fine," said Tom. He walked closer to her and extended his hand. "What's your name?"

"Um . . . Reeves. Genevieve Reeves." She quickly shook his hand and pulled away. Tom could tell that she was embarrassed, but he didn't know of any way to soothe her. She would stare at him a moment and then turn away just as fast, as if she were afraid to look at him for too long. "Okay, well I better show you where the problem is."

"Wait a minute. What's wrong?" asked Tom.

"Nothing."

"No, there has to be. You keep looking at me as if there's something there that seems wrong."

"It's nothing that a high post bed and a pair of handcuffs won't fix," she muttered. Genevieve immediately covered her mouth. The poor thing had spoken without thinking. Tom, for one, didn't know what to say. On one hand, he was definitely shocked. On the other, he was willing to take the comment as a compliment. It had been a long time since anyone had said anything remotely like that to him. None of those girls had been as lovely as Genevieve. Although he was willing to let the comment slide, she didn't notice. "Well, I . . . um . . . I should take you upstairs. No! I have to take you to the fuse box and then upstairs. Oh, forget it! Follow me."

Tom followed Genevieve to a room in the back. He was a bit worried by the way she looked over his shoulder as he cut the power to the upstairs rooms. But he didn't mind following her upstairs. He was enjoying the view of her ass swaying as she crept up the stairs. 'I really need to get out!' he thought.

Once at the top, Genevieve pulled out her flashlight and pointed toward a power outlet near the head of the stairs. "That's the problem." Tom shrugged and fell to his knees. As he removed the cover, he felt eyes pierce the back of his skull. He turned around to see Genevieve staring at him, her back pressed into the opposite wall with her legs pulled into her chest as she looked at him. Tom couldn't describe the way he was staring at her, but it was apparently enough to make her shiver. "Is it okay if I watch?" she asked quietly. "If an audience will bother you, I'll move on. It's no big deal."

"No, it's fine," answered Tom as he turned back to his job. "You just took me by surprise."

"Didn't mean to." Genevieve went silent for a moment, allowing Tom to prod at the different wires in virtual peace. He found the calm to be refreshing, invigorating. She didn't seem to appreciate the quiet as much and soon began to talk. "You know, I don't normally wander around the house like this, you know dressed like common white trash and ready to bash the brains in of every guy who happens to cross my way. See, my parents are out of town for the next 2 weeks. This is the first vacation they've had in 5 years. Since it's been so long, Carl, my step dad, wanted it to be special. Mom always wanted to go south, like Florida or something, and that's what they did. They've never been out of Maine. Neither have I. Have you ever left Maine, Mr. Jennings?"

"No, I've never left Maine. And the name's Tom…not Mr. Jennings."

"Okay . . . Tom," said Genevieve, her voice tinged with restrained glee. She inched closer to Tom and began to talk again. "But that doesn't explain me, does it? See, I went to job interviews all day yesterday so I'm slouching today. I'm sure to have various rejections. No one really wants to hire a 19-year-old. How old are you, Tom?"

"21."

"Cool . . . milestone. Did you have some sort of celebration?"

"Nope. My older brother kind of went crazy at 21. My birthday was wasted because we all sat around waiting to see if I'd go nuts too."

"Well, you obviously didn't."

"Obviously." Tom put the cover back over the outlet and turned to Genevieve. She looked so innocent, all wide eyes and cherub's lips. 'It's been much too long since I've been laid,' he mused, chewing his lower lip as he tried not to look too guilty. He attempted to shake off his lust and said, "Well, it should be fixed now."

"I'm sure it is." Genevieve stood up and walked to the stairwell. She turned back to Tom, her flashlight slowly rising to his face, and said, "I'm going to switch the power back on. Come with me?"

"Maybe later."

"Huh?"

"Oh . . . um . . . never mind. I'll go with you." Tom shoved his tools to the side and followed Genevieve to restart the power. As they walked back up the stairs, Tom heard the distinct pops of overheated light bulbs. "God! You do have extras, don't you?"

Genevieve scrunched her face and said, "I knew I should have picked some up last night. Sorry."

"No need to apologize to me. You do have candles, right?" She nodded. "Good. Well, I'll get you situated before I leave. Is that cool?"

Genevieve sighed and mumbled a strained affirmative. She trudged into a nearby closet and rummaged around. When she returned, she was carrying a handful of tapier candles. She handed them off to Tom before running into her room to retrieve a three-pronged candelabra and a stand-alone candleholder. He plugged in the candles while she looked for more holders. "Maybe you should take a few light bulbs from downstairs," offered Tom. "It would be much less a hassle than pulling out a bunch of candles."

"Won't help," murmured Genevieve. "It's hard enough to light the downstairs as it is now. I don't want to be running blind through the entire house."

"I suppose not." Tom pulled out his lighter and lit the candelabra. He looked up to see Genevieve standing in front of him, her eyes level with his and her lips slightly parted. Carefully, she moved the candelabra away and sat in front of him. Her hands slipped up his shoulders and around his neck. Tom didn't resist her as her mouth moved in for his. He reached out to her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as much as he could before coming up for air.

Genevieve pulled away and whispered, "Not here. Not like this."

"Then where?"

"My bedroom. Down the hall. Grab the light and follow me."

Tom didn't argue. He grabbed the candelabra and followed Genevieve to the end of the hall. She fiddled with a faulty doorknob for a few strained moments before the door swung open. Genevieve grabbed his hand and led him inside. Although the lights were probably fine, neither of them jumped to switch them on. Tom loved the ambiance the candlelight gave the room. The sepia walls seemed to glow, lending the room the illusion of a crumbling daguerreotype. The furnishings looked just as ancient, but were completely beautiful.

Then there was Genevieve Reeves. She took the candelabra from his hands and placed it on an out of the way dresser. Without speaking, her hands immediately sought out his shirt buttons. He attempted to unfasten the buttons to her shirt, but when his passion overcame his dexterity, he grew frustrated and pulled the shirt so tight that the buttons popped off. Genevieve took his lead and furiously tried to tear his shirt. In practically no time, they had ripped every stitch of clothing from their bodies. They stood before one another naked and confused. "I . . . um . . . I'm not so good at this," stuttered Tom shyly.

"Neither am I," whispered Genevieve as she moved closer. Her lips pressed chastely against his before she pulled away. She strode toward the bed and stood her ground. "I was hoping that we could learn from each other."

Tom needed no further encouragement. He joined her on the bed, straddling his thighs between hers as they devoured one another. They experimented for an hour, taking turns with touching and caressing one another in different places to see what brought on the desired effect. Sometimes they failed but they succeeded just as often, bringing about rapture more times than they were able to count. In the end, they lay in a pulsing, sweaty heap on Genevieve's bed. She remained pressed against his chest, her fingers toying with his nipples when she cooed, "I should break things more often, hmmm?"

"Well, maybe, I mean it took no time to fix. I was told it would take . . . oh shit! I have to get back to Garringer." Tom bolted from the bed and began grabbing for his clothes. He hoped beyond hope that Mr. Garringer wouldn't notice that he was coming back late or that he looked like he had been through a windstorm. "Genevieve, I . . . "

"You're not leaving me!" she protested.

"For an hour. Let me clear out my stuff at work and get everything settled at home. Get cleaned up and I'll take you out to dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah." Tom stumbled up to the bed, taking a seat next to Genevieve as he put on his shoes. "I've never just . . . "

"Screwed without question?"

"Right. Well, I've never done THIS before and I want to make it…"

"Seem less weird?" Tom nodded. Genevieve sighed and sat up, slipping her arms around his shoulders and kissing his temple. "Yeah, I understand. This is odd territory for me, too. Dinner sounds great."

"Great!" Tom turned and kissed her before fleeing the bed. "I'll pick you up around 7:30, okay?"

"Sure, but hold up a second. What do you have to clear up at home?"

"Have to make sure someone's able to watch Amy."

"Who's Amy?" asked Genevieve suspiciously.

Tom laughed as he inched closer to the door. "You'll hear all about it at dinner. Believe me, you're not my way of cheating on my little sister."


	6. 1966

Tom began to wonder if someone on the other side thought he looked great in black. That's the only way he could explain away his second funeral in nearly 2 years. The first had been for his parents. Now, he found himself at Lenore's funeral. He was as shocked as anyone that she had died. Sure, the woman was nearly 70; sure, she had been in slowly descending spirits over the last few years; and sure, she had spent the last 2 weeks of what turned out to be her life in the hospital. None of this, at least in Tom's eyes, meant that it was her time to go. She had been his bedrock throughout his entire life. Without her in his world, he didn't know what he would do. He was only glad that he had Amy and Genevieve by his side. Without them, he probably wouldn't have been able to get out of bed, much less speak before the entire congregation at Lenore's traditional funeral.

Tom recognized practically everyone at the service. Up front sat "the family," which now consisted of, along with Tom and an absent Chris, Amy and Joe. With them also sat Genevieve and Joe's girlfriend Carolyn Stoddard. Tom could tell that she was anxious to leave. And why not? She was a Collins, and a wild one from what he had heard. This wasn't her "scene." Throughout the congregation sat the remains of the Evans family, Sam and Maggie, Tom's employer Mr. Garringer, and various other well wishers that Tom only knew from their relationships with Lenore.  
  
The most interesting of the nameless crowd was the man in black. Tom thought he couldn't be out of his twenties. He sat silently to the side, huddled in his heavy black coat against the February chill. No one else seemed to recognize him either. They had all stared at him when he arrived. He only stared back, focusing his intense blue eyes on the offender until he sighed and turned away. He was intimidating and intriguing at the same time. Tom had to know who he was.  
  
Tom received his chance once the funeral was over. Anyone who had not been a member of the family quickly departed after the burial, leaving the remaining people to stand around, their eyes rarely meeting, only staring down at the lowering casket. Amy seemed to take all of this the hardest. Tom did her best to comfort her, but she refused to stop crying. He had to pass the wailing girl off to Genevieve, who cooed and cuddled the weeping princess as she walked toward the car. Before walking away, she leaned in and whispered, "He hasn't left yet. Go talk to him. I know you want to."  
  
Tom thanked her and watched as she walked away. He turned back to see the man standing about ten feet in front of him. At this range, Tom could tell that the man was taller than him, possibly four or five inches so. The man made no move to come closer. He only stared at him with his hands buried in the black coat. This man didn't seem like the type to person to make the first move. Tom knew it was his role to break the ice. He walked toward the stranger with his own his own hands now firmly encased in his pockets and asked, "Have we met?"  
  
"Probably not formally." The stranger withdrew his right hand from the coat, extending it calmly to Tom and said, "I'm Frederick Thorne."  
  
"Pleased to meet you." The men shook hands hastily, ending their handclasp fast and moving the hands back into their respective pockets as smoothly as possible. To Tom, it seemed that the introduction had only heightened Mr. Thorne's anxiety. Tom didn't see any obvious reasons for him to be afraid. What was this man hiding? "Tell me Frederick (it's okay that I call you this right?), how did you know my grandmother?"  
  
"I met her a few weeks ago when my friend Julie was in the hospital," explained Frederick slowly. "It was just a chance meeting in the hall. We began to talk, and soon we were friends. Even after Julie was released, I made sure to check in on Lenore."  
  
"Okay. God! I know who you are now. I feel like such an idiot."  
  
"Really? Well then, who am I?"  
  
"You're the one the nurses used to kid grandma about," answered Tom giddily. "You're the one they used to coo over."  
  
Frederick smiled shyly and nodded. "It was a bit embarrassing. I . . . um . . . I didn't expect any of those women to be so . . . how should I put it . . . "  
  
"Endlessly enthralled?" asked Tom. "They would talk to grandma about being jealous of her because of her cute grandson and her godlessly young boyfriend."  
  
"Boyfriend?" asked Frederick.  
  
"Oh yeah, they were merciless. Of course grandma would light heartedly deny it all but I could tell that she liked the attention. You really made her happy."  
  
"Really?" Tom nodded. "Well then, I'm glad that I could be of some service."  
  
"Nice to see you're finally providing some kind of service again." Both men looked up to see Genevieve strolling towards them. Tom glanced back to Frederick and noticed the disarming grin spreading across his face. Genevieve knew this man? Tom didn't know what to think as she took his hand but extended her other one to Frederick Thorne. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, whispering something that was apparently funny in his ear before kissing his cheek and slipping back toward Tom. She turned to him, took his face into her hands, and kissed his lips. As she pulled away she whispered, "We used to party together in Portland during my wild days. I've not seen him in years. It was nothing."  
  
"Now you tell me." Tom glanced awkwardly between Genevieve and Frederick. He knew that he shouldn't be too surprised. She had told him about her crazy years of partying with people who wanted to use her. She had apparently met Chris during those days. He was "one of the good ones" by her standards. Tom knew that her wild times were behind her, but the sight of Genevieve with this relic from her past made him worry. She had known men who were as beautiful and engaging as Frederick Thorne. Tom suddenly felt as if she were "settling" for him. He just wanted to leave this place and crawl into bed. Life seemed to feel bleaker by the moment. "So Frederick, how long will you stay in town?"  
  
"I'm leaving tomorrow morning. There's no real need for me to stick around anymore."  
  
Genevieve leaned in and whispered, "He needs to find a new girlfriend. Frederick is such a slut!"  
  
Tom choked back his laughter as he stared at Frederick Thorne. 'Perhaps this guy isn't the threat I thought he was.' Genevieve, although she obviously liked the man, didn't seem to think Mr. Thorne's habits suitable to hers. At least that was the way Tom was going to take her quiet outburst. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I would've liked to have gotten to know you a little better before you headed off."  
  
"No you wouldn't," answered Frederick with a slight grin. "I don't think you would have liked me very well."  
  
"My grandmother seemed to like you well enough."  
  
"I really don't understand why. I'm just glad that she did."  
  
"Oh? So Lenore's attention meant that much to you?" asked Genevieve.  
  
Frederick rolled his eyes dramatically. Genevieve looked up at him defiantly, waiting for him to answer her. Tom couldn't believe that these two had ever gotten along. "Yes!" He turned to Tom and asked, "Is Gene this mean to you? She's always been cruel to me. She wouldn't believe a word I said. Come on!" he exclaimed as he turned his focus onto Genevieve, "Why can't my word be the end all on a subject that concerns me?"  
  
"Because you're a terrific liar, Freddie," answered Genevieve. "I never thought that I knew you well enough to tell the truth from the garbage."  
  
"Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be." Frederick shrugged and smiled, doing his best to exit what seemed like a bad situation with as little effort as possible. He extended his hand to Tom and said, "Now, I really must be going. It's been a pleasure meeting you, your sister, and . . . isn't there another one of you guys? I seem to remember Lenore mentioning another name."  
  
Tom froze mid-shake. Frederick had to have been the 20th person to ask him about his older brother in the past week. The selfish bastard hadn't had the grace to answer any of the letters that had been sent to him about Lenore's death. Come to think about it, he had made no sign to get in touch with the family since their parents died. Chris was such a coward. Why did everyone have to remember him? "You must be thinking of Chris, my older brother," answered Tom slowly. "You haven't met him because he hasn't been in Collinsport in a few years."  
  
"Oh . . . I'm sorry I mentioned it. I didn't know it would be such a touchy area."  
  
"Your charm scores another victory," mumbled Genevieve.  
  
"Bravo! You've been so dutiful in pointing out my fumbles since you were crowned Ms Subtlety Maine." Frederick pulled away from the duo and began to walk off. He turned back around and waved, saying, "Goodbye all. I hope to see you all again. Genevieve, you've finally found a good man . . . don't kill him!"  
  
Tom waved as Frederick walked away. He tried to ignore the fact that Genevieve was both waving to the man and giving him the single finger salute. Part of him worried what the few funerary stragglers would think of them after this. Frederick laughed and returned the favor before walking across the street. Tom twisted toward Genevieve to notice the odd smirk that had overtaken her face. "Is he so horrible?"  
  
Genevieve shook her head lethargically. "He's not that bad, but he's not my kind of guy. He's got too much hidden inside. I never knew what I was getting when I was with him and it is just too unnerving for me to deal with. You know I always get this feeling that he's more experience than anyone else I know. He's only 30; he couldn't have seen that much more than anyone else."  
  
Tom nodded. He took her hand as they began to walk back toward the car. Although he had heard her opinion, Tom didn't know what to think. She said that he wasn't her kind of man. He wanted to know how she had found that out, if only to appease his worried mind. "So you wouldn't sleep with him," he whispered, half hoping she would notice and half hoping that she would not.  
  
"No! Eww . . . cooties. I would never sleep with THE Frederick Thorne," giggled Genevieve. "Too many passengers have stepped up for that ride and, quite frankly, I don't think it's safe. Why would you even ask a thing like that?"  
  
"Jealousy."  
  
"Figures. Men!" Genevieve turned to him and kissed his cheek. She laid her forehead against him and sighed defeatedly. "You don't have to ever worry about me doing anything like that. I'm not that kind of girl. I don't really like other men . . . just you. Do you understand?"  
  
"I suppose."  
  
"'I suppose,'" mimed Genevieve. She pulled away from his body but grabbed onto his hand. She pulled him along, glancing back toward him ever so often. Tom thought it looked like she was afraid he wouldn't be there when she returned to the car. "Hurry up," she playfully chided. "We need to get home and put Amy to bed. I should've known better than to leave her in the car. She needs to be home."  
  
Tom didn't argue with her. 


	7. Early 1967

Tom could barely contain himself as he fumbled his keys into the lock. They would be so proud of him (they would have to be!). He quietly slipped inside the house, careful not to alert those who might be inside of his presence as he moved through the halls. He crept around the corner to see Amy sitting at Genevieve's feet. It was such a lovely scene. Tom was pleased that Amy and Genevieve got along so well. It would only make any transitions much easier . . . if one happened to pop up down the line. Then again, it would be a long while before anything popped up. His time would be spread extremely thin from here on out.

Genevieve caught a small glimpse of Tom's shoe from around the corner. "Okay," she said cautiously. "Do you really want to sneak up on us? Let this be a warning: I've been teaching Amy my self-defense moves, and if need be, she will be forced to do her damage."

Tom slunk out from behind his hiding place to be greeted by Amy's open arms. He could tell that something was wrong with her when he picked her up. Over the last few months, she seemed to be growing weaker. He hated to think that anything was wrong with her. Genevieve, who had a secretarial job at Windcliff, had taken Amy to visit one of the doctors. "What do they do at Windcliff?" he had asked Genevieve.

"Oh, they do lots of things. They treat any ailment you can catch. Mental problems often manifest in physical symptoms, you know? If anything's wrong with lil miss, they'll find it."

Tom didn't know what to think of that, but he trusted Genevieve enough to take her word on the Windcliff gospel. He had allowed her to take Amy to visit with the doctor. Unfortunately, the doctor couldn't come up with any reason for her sickness. She hypothesized that the girl might be reacting to the severe amounts of stress she had been facing over the last few years, but she didn't seem to take this theory seriously. It had been suggested to Tom that Amy be put into Windcliff on an in-patient basis. Both Tom and Genevieve shot that idea down immediately. Neither saw Amy as being that ill and both decided that the best they could do for her was to care for her in her own home. "How where you today, kid?"

"I was okay, Tom," sighed Amy. "Just a little tired."

"Sorry to hear that, hon. You'll be better tomorrow." He looked up to Genevieve and asked, "How are you?"

"Fine I suppose. What's with you? You don't usually ask about such things."

"Today's as good as any for that to change."

Genevieve shrugged. "Okay, I can play this game too. How was your day?"

"So glad you asked." Tom sat down in front of Genevieve. Amy sat down between his crossed legs and pulled his arms around her, sinking her head into the comfort of his warm winter coat. This had been the closest thing to a family moment that Tom had experienced in a long time. He didn't want to moment to pass, although he figured that it would very quickly. "I had an odd job today."

"Where do you go? Oz?"

"Very funny, Gene. No, I was at Collinwood."

"Really? How did that happen?" asked Genevieve.

Tom waited for Genevieve to slip to the floor before he continued his anecdote. She sat in front of him, bracing her back against the sturdy recliner and folding her hands into her lap. She looked ready, if not mildly interested. "Um, there was some major wiring problems going on at Collinwood today. Since they had no one to help on hand, they were forced to call in on someone."

"Figures," snapped Genevieve. "Be it fix their lights or kill off their enemies, the Collinses are hopeless without Matthew Morgan. Go on . . . "

"Thank you. Well, Mrs. Stoddard called Garringer and he sent Darren Morgan and I out there to fix things up. As always, Darren found a million reasons not to do his work, leaving me there to fix the entire damn mess."

"Morgan really should be fired. You work your fingers to the bone while that idiot sits around fattening his royal largeness on whatever is in the icebox. You should say something about that."

Tom shook his head, careful to keep the smile that threatened to emerge from overtaking his face. "No need," he insisted shyly. "Morgan is already kicking himself. You see, Mrs. Elizabeth Stoddard herself took notice that I was doing my job without complaint. Once I was done, I went in to see her and she raved me for a few seconds. She briefly told me that the family had been without a general maintenance man for quite awhile and asked if I might be interested in taking on some of those responsibilities at Collinwood."

"Some of those responsibilities? Why not all?" asked Genevieve.

"She's got a man working the grounds and fixing the cars, but this guy can't make his way around the house to save his life," explained Tom.

Genevieve wrinkled her nose, staring down into her hands as she contemplated what he had told her. When she looked up, Tom could see the thin red lines beginning to creep into the whites of her eyes. "Um . . . if you're working for the Collins' now, will you still be working with Garringer?"

"Yeah . . . the Collins thing isn't full time, although it pays VERY well. I've still got to work with Garringer to make ends meet."

"Oh," whispered Genevieve vaguely. "So you'll be working more hours than you are right now?"

"Not every day, but I will average more hours a week than I do now."

Amy looked up at Tom and said, "You're not going to be around the house as much as you are now. What's wrong? Do you not like us anymore?"

"That's not so, honey. I love you so much that I want you to have a comfortable life. I just want to make it easier on us in the long run. Do you understand?" Amy begrudgingly nodded her head. "Good, now if I'm reading the clock right, it looks like it's someone's bed time."

Amy groaned as she wrapped her arms around her brother's neck. "Do I have to, Tom?" she asked as he carried her to her room.

"Yep. You know that you have school tomorrow and . . . "

"Another doctor's appointment. ICK! I don't want to go back to the doctor."

"But you've got to," insisted Tom. "Once you get better, you never have to go to another doctor again."

"Really!"

"Well, you may have to go to doctor once more, but that will be a long time from now. Can you deal with that?" asked Tom.

Amy thought about it a moment before mumbling, "I'll manage."

Tom tucked Amy in for the night. She seemed to take the news well. He had hoped she would have been more ecstatic, but he could deal with her reaction. She's only a child; his priorities and hers would not always match up. Genevieve's response, however, had been disheartening. She should have understood his excitement. What was her problem?

Tom caught Genevieve before she walked out the door. She was going to leave without saying goodbye. "Bye, Gene. It was a pleasure to be with you too."

Genevieve stopped quickly and shut the door. When she turned to face him, Tom could see the dried tear tributaries that lined her face. She fell back into the door, letting it buffer her body as she slid to the floor. While pulling her knees to her chest, she murmured, "I think Amy was right."

"Right about what?" asked Tom.

"Right about you not wanting to be around certain people. I mean, why would you take a job that you didn't need? It'll kind of take up all your free time, you know?"

"God Gene, why does it have to be like this? I'm not taking this job for any reason other than money. I know I don't need the money, but I want to have it tucked away," explained Tom. "I don't want to stay in Collinsport for the rest of my life. I want to take that money and move away, to get far from this hell hole."

"And leave me behind?" asked Genevieve. "You don't seem to have factored me into your great plan." She leapt to her feet and slowly began to approach Tom. "I've done so much for you. I'm like your surrogate mother/wife. And how do you think I'd feel about having to give up Amy. I love her as if she was my own. Tom, I love you and I can't believe that you think so little of me that you'd leave me to the side."

"But that was never my intention! If I was going to go, you better believe that I wouldn't leave without you. I don't know what I'd do with myself if you weren't with me."

"Do you me . . . mean that?" Tom nodded. Genevieve muffled a sharp yelp into her palm before running into Tom's arms. "Oh God, I should have known better. I'm such a dunce sometimes."

"You're just tired," whispered Tom. "You do so much for me and I never really acknowledge it"

"As I said, it's just like I'm your wife or something. You know, this will be the first night I go home in about two weeks. I'm sure my mother has already leased my room out to some ne'er do well border."

"I don't see why you bother going home," said Tom. "You know you always have a place to stay here."

"As much as I'd like to live in your bed, I don't think that's an option," sighed Genevieve.

"And why not?"

"Well, for one thing, we're not married."

"What difference does that make?"

"People will talk behind our backs if we just live together."

Tom couldn't help but stare incredulously at her for a moment. "But they're already talking about us, Gene. As you said, you've not slept at home for the past two weeks and this is far from the first time something like this has happened."

"It's not the same," insisted Genevieve as she pulled out of his grasp.

"Oh, I see how it is! It's okay for us to sleep together and occasionally spend the whole night with one another, but it turns into sin once we officially set up house."

"That's not what I was trying to say."

"Then what were you trying to say? I sure as hell can't get it!"

Genevieve shook her head dolefully as she stood by the door. "And now we're back where we started . . . only our roles are reversed."

"Yeah," mumbled Tom. "I'm sorry."

"So am I." Genevieve paced the floor before saying, "We're not going to get anything settled tonight."

"No we're not." Tom walked up to Genevieve and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "You go home and think about it. I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"I know you don't, Tom. I just don't know what to think."

"Then you need to go home and decide. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Tom waited until Genevieve had driven out of the driveway to slip back into the house. He could understand her reservations. Collinsport was a small provincial town and what he had asked of her would not be well received. He wanted to be with Genevieve as much as possible, but he didn't want to ruin her reputation in the process. This all would have been easier if he were ready to marry.

Tom was about to head to his own room when he heard someone knock at the door. It was Genevieve. "What is it?"

"I left something here," she whispered.

"What?"

Genevieve smiled and took his face into her hands. "I left my heart." Genevieve kept a straight face for almost half a minute before bursting into sweet giggles. "I'm sorry to be so cheesy but that's the only thing I could think to say. I drove around 15 minutes and that was all that was in my head. It's pathetic."

"Not pathetic," insisted Tom, "but . . . um . . . "

"Weak?"

"Well meaning." Tom kissed her forehead and asked, "You can't have made up your mind?"

"Hmm . . . I'll stay here tonight and then . . . then we'll pick up my junk from my mom's house throughout this week."

"What's brought on this change of heart?" asked Tom.

"Mom and Carl lived together for years," replied Genevieve. "Besides, I'm almost 21. It's about time to leave the roost."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you'll regret."

Genevieve placed her finger over his lips and smiled. "I'm sure I won't regret it. I know that all will end up right."

"It already has."

The two of them ran over Tom's room, ripping off their clothes the moment the door closed. They made love, careful to keep the sound down so as not to wake Amy. Once they were done, they lied entangled in one another's arms, occasionally talking although both knew that there was no real need to do so.

"We won't get married in Collinsport, will we?" asked Genevieve wistfully.

"I've not even proposed yet and you're talking about marriage," sighed Tom. "And no we won't be married in Collinsport!"

"I want it to be at the sea, the entire thing. I don't want the confines of a chapel to close in on us."

"Last time I checked, we were living very close to the sea."

"Okay, I want the sea but I don't want Maine," revised Genevieve quickly. She moved in closer to Tom, nearly pulling herself on top of his body so that she would be looking down into his eyes. "I want to go somewhere less dreary. I want to go south or maybe to the West Coast. I want to go where the sun shines, where you can taste the salt in the ocean rising in the air. I want a tan, dammit."

"You've got this all figured out, don't you?" Genevieve nodded deviously. Tom could only laugh at her. He pulled her closer to him, this time pressing her body into his and diverting her intense stare from him. "See, it's a good thing I got this extra job. I've barely started and you've already got every dime spent."

"You don't mind do you?"

"I don't care. I couldn't spend it."


	8. Late 1967

To anyone who knew him, Tom Jennings seemed to be spreading himself too thin. He worked nearly full days with Garringer. The Collins family wasn't working him as hard as anyone expected, but the jobs they asked him to do were time consuming. Thankfully, he had few problems with the members of the family. Mrs. Stoddard was generally nice to him, as was the sweet young governess who he occasionally saw wandering around the house. Roger Collins was rarely seen around the house, although his son was regularly seen running around the house with some means of destruction gripped in his small hands. The same could be said for Carolyn Stoddard, although her weapons of choice were the hearts of any man she dragged into the great estate. Tom almost felt sorry for every poor schmuck she dated, be it the weird hippie boy or the local lawyer. Of course, Carolyn wasn't as creepy as the family cousin that lived in the Old House. Tom didn't understand why, but every time he saw that man, or his manservant, he felt sick. If the money weren't so good, he would find a way to ask about them. He knew that his questions weren't the kind you asked if you expected to maintain your job.

The money was being put to good use. Thankfully, Amy began to recover. Genevieve continued to insist that it was the stress that was making her ill, although the bozos at the hospital still found reasons to try run countless tests on her small body. Tom usually shot those plans down as he trusted Genevieve's judgment over that of the doctors. It only went to show that he and Genevieve were closer than ever. The few people that realized that they were living together refused to talk about it. Many people were already under the impression that the couple was married. Since they were planning to marry eventually, both Tom and Genevieve generally failed to correct the people who thought they were. Privately, they made plans to leave town once the money could be freed up. Both of them wanted to go to California to live off the beach. Tom was sure that the change of atmosphere would do them all—particularly Amy—good.

He was shocked to see a strange car sitting in his driveway when he got home. He ran through his memory in the hopes of finding a car that looked like this one. He knew most of Amy's friends from school and none of their parents had this old car. None of his or Genevieve's friends owned anything like it either. He knew that it was best not to jump to any conclusions, but he couldn't help it in this light. Before he could get the key into the lock, the door opened to reveal a serious looking Genevieve on the other side. "Calm down," she said softly.

"I haven't said anything."

Genevieve shook her head and took her lover's hand. "I know how you think, Tom. A weird car is sitting in front of your house at an evening hour. I know that you're suspicious."

Tom nodded solemnly as he leaned his side against the doorframe. "You know me well, hon. So tell me, what's going on?"

"You have to promise to keep your cool, okay?"

Tom raised his right hand and said, "Cross my heart, hope to die. Now tell me."

Genevieve opened her mouth, but it shut it the moment Amy crept up next to her. The small girl wrapped one arm protectively around Genevieve's leg. In the other, she carried a plush blue bunny. Although he knew that Amy had an extensive stuffed animal collection, Tom had never seen this one before. "Amy," he asked, "who gave that to you?"

Amy's lips curled into a sweet smile as she said, "Chris gave it to me."

"Chris?" Amy nodded rapidly. Tom cast an awkward glance down to Genevieve, who couldn't maintain eye contact with him. "How long has he been here?"

"Just a few hours," whispered Genevieve.

Tom would have blown a fuse had Amy not been at his feet. The look in Genevieve's eyes was begging him to remain cool. Tom tried his best to keep a placid look on his face as he walked into his house. He wandered into the living room to see his brother sitting in what was effectively HIS chair. It had been a little over five years since he had laid eyes on his brother. Shockingly enough (at least to Tom), Chris had not physically changed. The weight of all he had done had not taken a noticeable toll. Tom had always hoped that this would happen, making his wayward brother distinctive from himself. In fact, they looked more alike more than ever. His first inclination was to yell at him, but he didn't. "Hello," he mumbled. "It's been awhile."

"Yeah it has." Chris looked around the room with anxious eyes, scanning each object as if it were new surroundings. Slowly, he rose from the chair and walked toward his brother. Tom could see worry circling the man's eyes. It was his first inkling that Chris was having a hard life. Tom didn't feel for him, firmly believing his brother had brought this pain upon himself. "Um . . . how have you been?" asked Chris shyly.

Tom immediately bit his tongue, knowing that if he were to speak now, he would probably regret it. He couldn't believe that Chris was making small talk. Tom couldn't pretend that nothing had happened, especially not when he was the one who had been left behind to deal with the repercussions. But Tom was not blind enough to miss that Amy seemed amazed by her prodigal brother. He would do his best not to embarrass him in her mind. "I've been as well as can be expected," answered Tom softly.

Chris nodded. "I . . . well, I've been meaning to call but I've been . . . "

"Busy?"

"Yes . . . I mean no . . . I mean . . . God!" Chris moved up closer to Tom, staring his brother in the face with intense conviction as he said, "Listen, I know this sounds like complete bullshit, but I'm telling the truth. I've been working through a lot of things in my life and it has really taken up most of my time."

"You mean it's taken up five years of your life?" asked Tom, now unable to control the spite from stinging his words. "You're saying that you didn't have five minutes to spare for your flesh and blood? Really Chris, that's hard to believe. There's no doubt in my mind that you've had some crazy stuff to work through, but no one's problems are that big!"

"No, you don't understand," insisted Chris.

"Then tell me about it!" screamed Tom. "You couldn't tell anyone about this problem a few years ago. Can you tell me now?"

Chris stepped back, seemingly afraid of his brother. "Are you sure that you've been alright over the last few years?"

"No!" Chris opened his mouth to speak but Tom immediately jumped in, saying, "I left a possible future behind to take care of our grandmother and sister after our parents died. Why did I do this? I think it's because the brother that everyone depended on to take care of things split town without explanation. Hell, he's standing right here in front of me and he's still talking in circles."

"That was uncalled for!"

"Hold up! Let me answer your question again. I feel fine, Chris. My conscience is at rest."

Chris didn't react immediately. He backed up from Tom slowly, careful to feel his way back to the chair with a few well-placed kicks to clear the walkway. His face remained stoic until his glance landed on the doorway. Almost instantly, his eyes thinned to narrow slits as he stared ahead. Tom turned around to catch Genevieve scurrying out of the way as she closed the door. Chris waited until Tom faced him to speak. "I don't know what to tell you. I understand that your life isn't all that you thought it would be. But let me tell you, if you think your life is hell, I can assure you that mine is a million times worse."

"Well lets look at the facts: your life goes to nothing after you desert a family that needed you --nay, depended on-- you in some cases. Hmm . . . have you heard of karma? I'm pretty sure that's the cause of your problems."

Again, Tom had struck his brother speechless. Each time he attempted to talk, he would sigh and look away. Eventually, Chris buried his head into his palms. Tom listened carefully and, to his relief, he heard no crying. "How can you be so cold to your own brother?" he asked softly.

"You're going to have to excuse my coldness," said Tom, now allowing venomous laughter to infect his voice, "but I don't see why you have the right to complain. You were always cold to me, even when we were children. I earned my right to be heartless, at least when it comes to you."

"You don't understand!" wailed Chris. "I've changed (oh God! How I hate that word) . . . I'm not the person you grew up with."

"But you look just like him," snapped Tom.

Chris took a breath and fell back into the chair. Slowly, he brought his hand to his head and massaged his temples. Tom thought the scene to look odd. He had never seen Chris so anxious in all the years they had been together. Maybe his brother had changed? Chris shook his head violently before saying, "I don't feel real anymore. I don't deserve to live."

"Huh? I don't understand."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you! I . . . I've hurt so many people. Mom, Dad, Grandma, you, Amy, Sabrina . . . "

"Hold up a minute!" Tom dragged a chair from the other side of the room over to Chris' seat. "Who is Sabrina?"

"She's someone I loved . . . someone I still love."

"Then why aren't you with her?" asked Tom. "If you love her so much, go to her now!"

Chris sighed and sunk further into the chair. "She knows about me," he insisted quietly. "She knows my secret . . . oh God . . . if she's still . . . "

"But that's the way relationships work. Genevieve knows more about me than anyone else. I don't like to think that she knows these things, but I can't turn her away because she knows the bad me."

"You're still not getting it." Chris sat up and leaned into Tom's face. "My secrets are much worse than yours. Genevieve knowing your stuff is nothing like Sabrina knowing mine."

"That's presumptive," said Tom. "You've not been here. You don't know me well enough to say that your secrets are worse than mine."

"It doesn't matter. I can guarantee it."

Tom said nothing. As hard as he had tried, he had been unable to see the "new Chris." His brother seemed as arrogant as ever. Tom wanted to accept his brother; more than ever, he was looking to make his family feel complete. Nothing would have felt more complete than to have Chris home again. "Are you going to stay?" he asked.

"Stay where?" asked Chris. "Here."

"No Portland. Of course here! I just assumed that if you were ready to finally face your family, or at least what's left of it, you'd be ready to stay."

Chris immediately shakes his head. "I'm not ready for that. To tell the truth, YOU'RE not ready for it, either."

"I'm ready for more than you think."

"I . . . I . . . I don't think this is going anywhere," mumbled Chris finally. "I should just go."

"I think you should."

Chris nodded and promptly leapt from the chair. He grabbed a bag that had been unobtrusively lying to the side and slung it over his shoulder on the way to the door. He and Tom stared at one another for a moment, quietly sizing the other up and trying to find the words to bid his brother adieu. Chris finally spoke up, saying, "I really didn't want our relationship to be this way. I've always held out for the hope that we could be friends."

"So had I," whispered Tom. "So had I."

"But maybe that can still happen." Chris dug around in his bag until he found a weather beaten notebook. He scrawled out a name, address, and telephone number before tearing the paper out and handing it to Tom. "If you ever need to get in touch with me, go through all of this."

Tom took the sheet of paper without looking down at it. "Okay, this'll do. And you know where I am, right? Of course. So, if you're ever in trouble and need someone to talk with, remember that, although I really don't like you right now, I am your brother and I want to know what's going on."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Tom watched as Chris quietly opened the door and walked out. Suddenly, he remembered to remind his brother to say goodbye to Amy. If Chris left without telling her, the girl would probably be distraught, blaming both he and Tom over their lack of foresight. He rushed to the driveway to see that his reminder was unneeded. Chris sat on the front door stairs with Amy clutched in his arms. Tom could see a few tears slipping down her cheeks as she held on to her brother's shoulders. "You don't need to go," she sniffled. "You need to stay here with us!"

"I know, but I can't," insisted Chris softly. "There's nothing I'd love to do than stay here with all of you, but I've got a lot of things to clear up. Do you understand?" Amy shook her head. "Ah sweetheart, I know it's hard to understand, but it's not like we'll be separated forever. In no time, I'll come back to stay. Who knows, maybe it'll be just the two of us? There will come a time when we'll have to back off and give the wacky lovebirds time to themselves. We'll be together then, okay?"

Amy nodded cautiously. Tom thought that she knew that Chris was just trying to appease her. Chris probably did too. He sighed and kissed his sister on the cheek before handing her off to Genevieve. Chris shook her hand and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, but Tom noticed the way the corners of her mouth turned in. She was not a happy camper. Chris briefly turned back to his brother and waved. Tom did the same and watched as his older sibling stepped into his car and drove off.

Tom was still staring out onto his driveway when Genevieve walked into the house with Amy at her side. Almost immediately, Amy reached out to Tom, who didn't waver in accepting his kid sister into his arms. She laid her head against his chest, clutching him tightly around the back while carrying Chris' gift to her between them. "Will Chris ever come back?" she asked.

"Of course he will," said Tom with false surety. "He'll be back before you know it. You do believe me, don't you?"

"Yes, Tom. I know that you won't lie to me," explained Amy. "If you say he's coming back, I know that he is."

Tom choked back tears as he kissed his sister's forehead. He took his sister to her room and told her to prepare for bed. The girl did so without question, and in no time, was tucked inside the covers, waiting for her brother to send her off to sleep. Tom told her a quick story, and she drifted off before he was finished.

Tom fled her bedroom quietly and headed off for his own. When he entered, he saw Genevieve sitting in a recliner near the bed, her face cradled in her hands as she sobbed oblivious to her lover's appearance. He sank next to her and locked his arms around her shoulders, allowing her to cry into his body. "I'm so sorry," she sighed. "I thought he was you when I opened the door. It took me about a second to realize that I was wrong, but by then, it was too late to do anything about it. I didn't want you to go through this. I know you don't like your brother."

"It's not your fault," Tom reassured her. "Besides, there was nothing you could do about it. He was going to get in touch with me one way or another. This way is as good as any."

"True, but I hated to see Amy's hopes dashed on the rocks."

"Me too." Tom pulled away from her and sank to the floor. He looked back into Genevieve's face and said, "I think Chris is hiding something from me."

"Why do you say that?"

"He kept asking me how I was and he went on and on about some deep dark secret of his. I don't get it: he wanted to see me to make amends, but he wasn't willing to tell me what his life has amounted to over that last few years. It doesn't really make sense."

Genevieve nodded as she slipped deeper into her chair. "Are you going to find out what it is?"

Tom smiled slimly as he pulled the crumbled sheet of paper out from his pocket. "I will one day . . . but not now. They'll be plenty of time to deal with my brother. His secret has waited five years. It can wait a little longer."


	9. 1968

Tom would make a quick stop at his house before heading off to his last job. Although he had one more job for the day, he thought it best to make sure that everything was going well he left for what could be most of the night. He almost relished this last little trinket of the day because Tom was convinced that it would be his last job for the Collins family. He had handed Roger Collins his resignation the day before, who had begrudgingly accepted it. He told Tom that he was a wonderful employee and that He would find him a hard worker to replace. Although he felt flattered, he made sure that Mr. Collins realized that he would not cave in and stick around town. He told him of his plans to leave Maine for the West Coast. "That's very nice, Tom," he had said in his dignified manner. "You should live out your dreams while you're still young. But tell me, do you have enough money saved to start your life over?"

"I believe so, sir."

"I'm afraid that's not a good enough answer." Roger left him for a moment to go into the study. When she returned, she carried with her a leather clad book. Tom knew it was one of those large checkbooks. Was she going to give him money? Tom began to speak up but Mr. Collins silenced him immediately. "I know what you're thinking, Tom, and I can assure you that I am not just _giving_ you this money. Tomorrow, you will perform you last duty for this family. My estranged wife's brother is moving into one of the family properties that have been left unoccupied for many years. I want you to check it out and make sure everything is as it should be. Is that fair?"

Tom had not been willing to argue with him, especially not after taking a peak at the amount she was going to pay him.

When he pulled into the driveway, Tom was greeted by Amy's joyous smile. She nearly tackled him as he stepped out of the car, rapping her arms around his legs and hugging her body close to his as she pushed him into the door. "You've got to see the house," she squealed. "It looks so strange."

"I bet it does." Tom swept Amy from the ground and carried her inside. Just as she had said, the house did look strange. Tom could not remember a time when the walls had been as bare as they were now. Every picture and drawing had been stripped away and packed into the boxes that sat in the living room floor. All of the good furniture would follow them across the county; the refuse would be either sent to Goodwill or given away to anyone who happened to want it. In a few days, the Jennings' home would be officially sold off and the last of the family would have left Collinsport for good. Even Chris had been notified of this event, and he seemed as thrilled as anyone did. They would all be starting over now. Tom couldn't be more thrilled.

Genevieve wandered out of one of the back rooms. Her hair was tied into a natty ponytail and her clothes were stained by the dust the lined the old walls. To Tom, she seemed radiant nonetheless. She began to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but suddenly pulled away. "You don't mind the dust, do you?"

"Not from you." Tom accepted Genevieve's arms, and, in turn, her mouth as she reached up to kiss him. When they released, he pulled her close, and, together, they surveyed the work they had done over the last few days. "I can't believe that we will be out of this house by the end of the week," he mused.

"I know," agreed Genevieve. "Soon, we'll be starting over again. We'll be married and together, we'll raise Amy and . . . "

"Whatever else we can make in the next few years?"

"Bingo." Genevieve's lips wandered up his neck and gently tugged at his earlobe. "Why don't we start on that tonight?"

"After work."

Genevieve cringed and pulled out his arms. "I don't think you should do that job," she said quietly. "We don't need the money. I'm sure Mr. Collins would understand."

"But I promised him that I would do this . . . and we do need the money."

"I still don't like it."

"Well, you've never liked this job," snapped Tom.

"It's not that you're working for the Collins family," insisted Genevieve. "I've just got a bad feeling about this one. I want you to stay home with Amy and me. I want to know that you're safe."

Tom stared at Genevieve from across the room, amazed by how afraid she was of something so simple as THIS job. He groaned before moving to her, taking her into his arms and holding her tight. "It'll be alright, I swear. I'll finish as quickly as I can and come straight home. Do you know that it'll be a clear night tonight? We'll get a blanket and some wine. We'll make love beneath the heavens and watch the stars twinkle as we bask in each other's glory. Would you like that?" Genevieve nodded. "Great. Then we'll do that after I get back. Okay?"

"Okay." Genevieve kissed him hard, harder than she had in quite awhile. She called for Amy the moment they released. "I'll see you when you get back."

Tom kissed her again and made his way toward the door. Amy intercepted him only feet from his destination, holding her arms up to him with a gleefully expression on her face. He took her into his arms and let her press her small body against his. "How long are you going to be, Tom? Not too long I hope."

"It'll all depends on what Mr. Blair wants from me." He sat Amy back down and rose to leave. For some odd reason, he picked Amy back up and kissed her again. He ran a finger down her nose and asked, "You're going to be good while I'm gone, aren't you." Amy nodded. Tom watched as his sister ran up to his girlfriend and, for the first time, realized that the three of them would be rid of this house in a few days. Soon, the Jennings clan would be kissing Collinsport goodbye. He knew that he shouldn't be so happy about it, but he was. He had so many conflicting emotions centered on his hometown. By the end of the week, Tom would be free of creaky old town. The thought was enough to make his upcoming job seem pleasant.

Tom smiled and walked toward the front door. Before going out to his car, he turned back into the house and said, "Goodbye for now. I'll see you both tonight."


	10. 1968 con

Nothing bothered Tom more than the incessant howling of dogs. Lately, everywhere he went, he was followed by the lonesome sound of a dog either in need or in pain. When had this begun? Ah yes . . . it had been the night that the blonde entered his life and ripped it to shreds.

Genevieve had been right: he shouldn't have taken the job. If he had stayed home, he would have never seen the coffin hidden in Nicholas Blair's cellar. He had been willing to turn away from it and forget what he had seen, but Blair had insisted on giving some glib explanation as to why it was there. Tom accepted that explanation and left. But the more his mind dwelled on it, the stranger the coffin became. He believed that no one in the family would keep a coffin hidden away on one of their old properties. Tom knew that he had to tell the authorities.

Quite suddenly, he noticed the sound crumbling of leaves approaching him, and, in the distance, the fearful shrieking of hounds began to resonate. Tom looked up to see a blonde woman, ethereal in her gown but silent as the Sphinx. He asked her for her name, but she did not respond. He continued to demand for her answer; the woman refused to give one as she moved toward him. Tom tried to flee the scene, but he discovered that he was unable to move. The best he had been able to do was scream as she drained him, hoping that his cries would bring help. Unfortunately, his only reprieve came with his loss of consciousness.

Tom didn't remember most of his hospital stay. He could not recall any of his visitors until the last day, although occasionally he saw snapshot like images of a few close friends' faces hovering over his bed. But his only true memories were of those few hours before her return. He could still see the look on Joe's face as he told him about what he had seen; that look had been a mixture of terror and sympathy, a good sign that he understood what he was being told. Tom had not always gotten along with his cousin, but he had believed that he could trust Joe when times were tough. How much tougher could times get! When he asked Joe to go to the police, he immediately said that he would. Tom thought that this awful mess would finally be over; but then he watched his cousin open the window. He called Joe on it and was be fed some line about the room being too stuffy. 'This is a hospital,' Tom had thought. 'It's always cold!' But he decided to let it slide. He could trust Joe, couldn't he? Besides, the air would do him some good. And surprisingly enough, he had been able to steal a few moments of rest before he heard the fluttering wings outside his window. He looked up to see the blonde standing before him. What use was there in protesting? His struggles would lead to the same end that they had before: being emptied and left for dead by the beautiful mute.

How was he ever going to escape her and her dogs! Surely the blonde and her posse were again on his trail…or were they? Tom looked around to see a twilight kissed forest shading him from the sky. Forest? He couldn't remember leaving the hospital. How had he gotten to the woods if he had never left his bed? Tom wandered throughout the forest in the hopes of finding some clue as to how he ended up there. He eventually came to a sort of clearing. Tom stared for a moment out into the sea of stone, unwilling to believe that his search had brought him to a graveyard. Calmly, he glanced over the headstones and, on occasion, he would notice a name, be it from direct knowledge or hearsay. He thought nothing of them. One marker, however, made him stop. "'Thomas Jennings: 1944-1968.' But it can't be. I'm alive! I'm breathing, I'm walking, I'm . . . oh God." Suddenly, it made sense. Tom knew why he wasn't in the hospital. He knew where his day had gone. The dogs weren't howling for the blonde; they were howling for him.

Tom heard rustling in the distance. He couldn't be seen by anyone, at least not yet. He ran to the thickest grouping of trees and watched as Joe Haskell approached the tombstone. Tom could see that his cousin was thoroughly glass-eyed. "I can't believe I'm here," whispered Joe. Tom noticed how his voice had cracked, showing that his old adversary had wept for quite a while. "I . . . um . . . well, I hate that all this had to happen. I tried . . . I tried to stop her, but she . . . she stopped me! She had her way . . . she always does. I'm so sorry. I've betrayed you!"

'You're damn straight,' thought Tom angrily. He couldn't believe that old reliable Joe was involved with the blonde devil. That fool knew what she had done and now all he could do was apologize! Tom's life, a life that would have finally moved in a positive direction, had been destroyed. He knew of his own damnation, but what about Genevieve or Amy, who wasn't even old enough to take care of herself? People had been ruined; Cousin Joe would have to pay.

Tom started to creep out of the woods, but stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. He fled back to his tree and watched as three forms moved closer. Tom was shocked to see the eccentric Collins surrounded by his manservant and the doctor who lived in the Great House. Tom remembered seeing her wander around during the days and had heard rumors of how she gave sedatives out like Halloween candy. Although he had a sinking feeling about this trio, they didn't immediately strike him to be grave groupies. He watched in silence as the woman went up to Joe and led him away from the grave. Once they were out of sight, Collins and his manservant took their places. This was the first time that Tom noticed their shovels. 'So they're going to dig it up!' He could just imagine their shock when they discovered the empty coffin. He snickered softly at them until hunger burst in his stomach and spread throughout his body. The pain sent Tom to his knees. Out of habit, he bit down on his bottom lip to find that fangs had already descended into his mouth. No doubt about it: he needed to hunt.

Tom had two options: he could attack the grave robbers or search elsewhere for a victim. He didn't believe that he would be able to take on both men by himself. Although he knew that he would have to leave the forest, he didn't know where he would go. Besides, how would he leave without them hearing him? He crouched lower to the ground and concentrated on leaving the area. Slowly, he felt his body rise from the ground, buffered by the air as he ascended above the trees. Although Tom was pleasantly surprised by his new ability, he didn't see it as a solution. Wouldn't the men see him zooming through the sky and become suspicious? He glanced down at them to see that they were thoroughly consumed with their task. He could leave undetected, and he took ample advantage to do so.

Tom found enchantment in flying. Part of him could still remember the whispers of his decrepit grandfather as he warned his mother before she flew to Santa Fe to meet an old friend from school: "If God had meant for you to fly, he woulda gave you wings. There ain't no need to do it, and there ain't no reason to want to." Well, Tom had always thought his grandfather mad. Now was the perfect time to believe it. He couldn't imagine how anyone could find fault with flying. He had never felt freer than he did right then with his arms extended out and his body gleefully being battered by the cold night sky. Maybe death wasn't going to be so bad after all?

After much hesitation, Tom fell back to earth. He scanned the grounds to find himself in a familiar place. One rarely forgets what home looks like. Of course, it looked a little shabbier than when he last saw it but that was to be expected. No one was around now to mow the lawn or sweep the porch. If something broke, it was liable to remain that way until someone bought the place and fixed it up. Genevieve was probably at the house, but she would be in no condition to keep it livable. The week before she had packed all their things away so that they could leave the state. Tom was pretty sure that she hadn't touched it in all that time.

A light burned dimly from the kitchen. Tom crept up to the house to inspect, although he knew well whom he would find. He peaked through the window to see Genevieve scrounging through her purse. She had dragged the old black telephone in from the living room, letting the cable stretch tight like a trip cord for any unexpected visitors. Tom noticed that she was still wearing the customary black dress. He remembered that Genevieve hated wearing black; she must have borrowed that atrocity from a friend because she didn't own a stitch of black clothes.

After a few minutes of searching, Genevieve pulled a crumbled piece of paper from her purse. Tom wouldn't have realized what she was about to do had he not recognized the handwriting. Her fingers trembled as they searched out the necessary slots, but she eventually dialed the number. "Hello," she whispered unsurely, "can I speak with Chris Jennings. This is most urgent." There was a minute or two of strained silence, a time in which Tom noticed his lover's tired face morph into a vision of frustration. "Listen! This is not THAT kind of call. So why don't you get off your lazy ass and tell Chris that his could've been sister in law has called to tell him about his brother's funeral! Uh-huh, that's right. Now go tell him before I hurt you, okay?"

Genevieve withdrew the receiver from her mouth and mumbled, "Stupid twit. I don't have time for her bruised ego." In an instant, she rammed the phone back to her ear and sighed. "God Chris, it's so good to hear your voice. Please tell me you're just living with this girl because you have no other choices. The jealous child wouldn't let me talk to you until I mentioned the funeral. What do you mean you didn't know about the funeral? You do know that Tom's dead? Did you know he was attacked? ARGH! Joe was supposed to handle all of this, he told me so. Then again, Joe has not been himself for quite awhile.

"Everything is screwed up down here. Tom was attacked on a Collins property leased to a Mr. Nicholas Blair. He was in a coma for a little less than a week, but he started to recover a few days ago. I was with him yesterday and he was doing fine. He kept saying that he needed to tell Joe something. No, he didn't tell me what that something was. He said that he didn't want to worry me. Anyway, I wake up to hear he died last night. Joe told me he had it all covered, though. We had the funeral a few hours later and now it's all done." Genevieve hesitated a beat before screaming, "Of course the pieces don't fit! That's why I'm calling you. I'd like it if you came back to Collinsport to help me get some answers. No, the police aren't helping. Their idea of helping was taking Amy out of my care and putting her in Windcliff. No, I don't want to talk about it. Listen, I've just had the worst day of my life. I'll fill you in on the particulars when you get here, okay . . . "

Tom eased away from the window and moved back into the overgrown lawn. As much as he wanted to go to her, he knew that it was out of the question. Genevieve Reeves was a part of another life, a life that had ended much too suddenly. She would never be his again, be it as a lover or as a victim. Tom knew it was best to steal this one last glimpse of his love as she attempted to sort out the events of the last few days. "Do me proud, Gene. Make him pay." Tom looked back to the sky and rose, convinced that he would never see this house again.

Of course this realization hadn't eased his hunger. If anything, it worsened it, making his physical pain almost unbearable. Without thinking of where he went, he landed back on the ground. A quick look around told him that he was on Collins property. What luck? He had gotten in trouble here; why not cause a little of his own? He began to walk toward the Great House, but stopped short of doing so. He couldn't take a bite out of any of them, at least not yet. No one had knowingly sent him into danger. They wouldn't suffer for this . . . that is, for the time being. He turned around and headed toward the Old House.

The lights from the Old House shown brightly, seeming especially bright when one factored in the fact that it didn't have electricity. Tom wasn't really worried about that, though. If the house was illuminated, then there had to be someone there. He snuck up to the window and peaked inside. No one seemed to be home. Yet a moment later, a man walked out the door. Tom looked over to see that it was Jeff Clark, and he seemed irritated. Every time he had seen him, he seemed to be piqued over something. For a moment, he thought about attacking Clark, but he quickly decided against it. There was no need for Tom's first feeding to be on bitter blood.

Tom walked up to the door and checked the knob. Just as he had suspected, it was unlocked. He had been around the Collinses long enough to know that they never locked their doors. When he had worked for them, he had done his best to curb this habit. In his present state, Tom found it to be a blessing that these people never seemed to learn. The moment he stepped inside, Tom could sense that a living being was somewhere within the house. He would search the premises if he had to; the pain was becoming too much to bear. Fortunately, he noticed the odd metal door in the drawing room. As he walked toward it, the smell of warm blood greeted him with open arms. Cautiously, he opened the door and slipped down the dank steps, ready to take on whatever he happened to meet at the bottom.

Tom was almost surprised to see the good doctor in the basement. Tom sat at the steps a moment, attempting to assess if someone was with her. He neither saw nor felt anyone else in the room. So he made his move and walked into the light. She turned around with a start and asked who he was. All Tom could do was offer a smile. The doctor caught the hint very fast, be it because her friend had told her all about his finding or because the fangs were already on their marks. She begged Tom to stay back; he didn't see what was stopping him. He made his way to her and took her into his arms. Her protests strengthened as he held her. Maybe she knew exactly what was coming. Tom knew her fear and he knew the pain that would come with the first drink. He didn't bother to warn her as he plunged his fangs into her pale neck. His attack was met by her screams, but Tom didn't care. This was his first taste of blood as one of the living dead. He couldn't believe it was this unbelievable.


	11. 1968 con

In hindsight, he should have known better than to take the Dr. Julia Hoffman as his slave. That didn't mean that Tom regretted his choice. Julia was more than willing to offer up her neck to him, be it for his or her own pleasure. Through her blood, he had seen her thwarted affections for the eccentric, hollow cheeked Barnabas who (surprise, surprise) is a recovering vamp. It seemed that Julia had done her damndest to cure the poor bastard of his "horrible" affliction. Was she going to attempt to cure Tom? He couldn't see it in her thoughts. She seemed to like Tom just the way he was.

Not that Tom would agree to treatment anyway. In only the few nights since he had risen from the grave, he had become completely engrossed by his new life. For the first time, he was free of distractions and responsibility. He needed only to worry about himself. It had been ages since had had this kind of independence.

But life hadn't been all fun and games. Tom's first problem had been trying to find a place to sleep out the day. After a few moments of careful searching, he found an empty crypt. As he had suspected, it had Collins origin. Extra crypt? Were they just planning on death? But it didn't really matter to Tom why they had built it. It was large enough to serve his purpose. Since Barnabas and his servant had already turned the soil, acquiring his coffin was a cinch. He soon had his daylight safe house ready for business.

Sleeping in the coffin was another matter. Tom had always been slightly claustrophobic, a condition not very well suited to casket quarters. And to think that he had thought his old dorm room too small! Each evening, he would wake up and not realize where he was. Panic would instantly set in and he would thrash about in his small space, rocking the coffin until it teetered precariously on its stand. This activity, violent as it looked, brought Tom back to reality. With a quick movement, he would force it open and zoom into a sitting position, panting to recover any lost air. As much as he loved his new life, Tom had trouble grasping that he was dead. It was little things like this that made him remember and left him slightly bitter about his situation.

But any hesitation was swept away by the smell of the air. SHE was awake and was thinking of nothing but him. Tom would be able to reflect on nothing but Julia until he had the taste of her in his mouth. Just the thought of her was often enough to send his body reeling. He could savor her longing in the back of his throat. It was almost as intoxicating as her blood. He had to go to her side at once; nothing was going to keep them apart.

Tom had almost made his mind about the fate of Dr. Julia Hoffman. As much as he wanted to maintain their current "relationship," he realized that it was not an option for the long term. There were, therefore, only two real alternatives: free her and find another victim or do to her as was done to him. Although he liked the idea of having her with him forever, the remaining vestiges of Tom's conscience held him back. He had never been a man prone to violence; could he kill anyone? Could he take her against her will? The first problem was something he'd have to overcome; the second was something that would soon be out of the way. In just a few more nights, his will would permanently supplement hers. He wouldn't have to force her into anything because she would willingly do as he told her. That didn't mean he had to make a decision on it now. There would be plenty of time to come to some understanding that didn't feel rushed.

After of few minutes of rest, Tom slipped out of his coffin and flowed out into the world. Ever since his transformation, he had begun to view the world around him as different. The night air that had once seemed to be one mangled flavor now held a cacophony of aromas, each on distinct from the ones around it. Every color seemed brighter than it had before. It was as if the life that had once filled his body had been partitioned out to the earth. Tom wondered if others saw this change or if he was the only one allowed to view this glory.

He knew that he had changed drastically. Although he was unable to see the changes with his own eyes, his invasion of Julia's mind had allowed him to see his new self. He looked like the man he had been days before, but something seemed amiss. Something in his eyes . . . or his stance . . . or maybe his smile . . . had mutated into something quite different. It all lent him a lethal edge that he had not possessed when he was alive. Was it a good thing? It got the job done; why question what works?

Tom leisurely walked to his mark in the woods. It was THEIR spot. In just a few minutes, Julia would walk up to him and remove her scarf. They would then join together, merging in a union that was sensual and violent. It was the hi-light of his night. He took a deep, cleansing breath and called out. "Julia . . . Julia, come to me." He took another breath and leaned up against a tree. All he needed to do was wait.

Five minutes turned into ten; then turned into twenty. Soon, Tom found that he was still standing by the tree, forty-five minutes after he had sent out the call. He could send out another one, but, for some reason, it seemed pointless. He sniffed the air to find it the same as it was before. She was alive and she still longed to be with him. There had to be something holding her back . . . but what?

Tom thought on it for only a moment. The answer was painfully obvious. It had to be Barnabas. But why? He didn't want Julia . . . at least not the way Tom did. He was being difficult for no reason. Did Tom pose a serious threat to him? Not likely. The man was just being territorial. "Old bastard," muttered Tom. "He only wants her now that someone's in the way." Well, Tom had much to say about that. He was not willing to give up his only companion to assuage someone else's guilt. Barnabas would be dreadfully sorry that he picked this fight!


	12. 1968 con

"Rescuing" Julia proved harder than he had first believed. Tom knew that Barnabas had his love locked away in that cold ancestral fortress. What did Barnabas care for her? He was using her for some stupid little science experiment. He couldn't need her the way that Tom did.

And Tom was literally starving for her body. He wouldn't lower himself to take from the women who walked Collinsport's docks. He could smell the disease rising ripe from the nubile bodies and taste their desperation in the air around their eyes. Tom would not pollute his body with their blood. He couldn't drink from the sewer when he knew that the pristine reservoir was within his reach. Although ravenous for nourishment, he could wait until his Julia returned.

Tom realized that Julia thought of him constantly. He wouldn't let her forget. He would pry into her mind and ask her why she wasn't with him. He would beg her to give her reasoning for resisting his call. He could hear her mental pleading for forgiveness, pleading for him to understand that there were others who needed her as badly as he did. Each time she gave this paltry excuse, he would ask her whose needs were more important: his or Barnabas'. She could never answer. Tom knew that any minute her answer might come and she would flee her romantic prison to run to his embrace.

Unfortunately, it was taking days to break her resolve. Tom knew she longed for him; Julia's desire was all that kept him going. Occasionally, he could hear her thoughts of escape. In even rarer instances, he could literally feel her body rise from its bed and move toward the door. But every time she inched forward, she would almost instantly run back to the bed and lie down. She was more afraid of Barnabas than enamored with Tom. If they had been allowed more time to get acquainted, this kind of thing wouldn't have happened.

Julia didn't have the strength to escape her captor. That was fine. Since she was unable to come to him, Tom would just have to go to her.

It was only fair to give her fair warning. "Julia," he whispered internally, "I'm coming to you, dear." He could feel her excitement mixing with equal trepidation. Barnabas had to be with her. What would that confrontation hold? If it were a physical battle . . . well, Tom could waste Mr. Collins in a moment. Not only was he the much younger man, but he now had the increased strength that went along with his change. Barnabas had given that up with his cure. Hand to hand combat would be a cinch. But Tom didn't know what would happen with any other kind of fight. Sometimes, it felt as if his mind needed more time to adapt to its new surroundings. He felt slower to the point of apathy because of it. Tom hoped this was a temporary condition. He couldn't stand an eternity of stupidity.

As he walked to the Old House, he could hear Julia's warnings going off inside his head. "He's still with me," she said silently. "He has a gun!" Gun? It seemed that Barnabas was becoming desperate. Silver bullet was a solid bet if he were fighting a werewolf; with a vampire, silver was a gamble. Tom wondered about Barnabas' aim. Would he be able to hit his heart? He was willing to bet that he couldn't.

Tom paced around the house once he arrived, looking desperately for the room Julia was being sequestered. Even from this distance, he could pick up the distinctive scent of her blood. He knew that it might have been a better idea to wait outside a while longer in the hopes that Barnabas would leave the room. Yet it didn't seem worth the wait. He knew that the feeding would not happen in the house. He had to lure her outside; he would have to take her somewhere else. Without further wavering, Tom let his body crumble to dust and rise into Julia's room.

The look on Julia's face when he appeared in her room was priceless. Her eyes were filled with fear. Fear of whom? How was he to know? But why was he to care? He only had to ask his question and leave. "Julia, why didn't you come when I called?"

"I . . . I wanted to go," she said, "but I . . . I . . . "

Tom twisted around to see the source of the sound. Just as he had expected, Barnabas stood a few feet away, gun in hand and a triumphant gleam in his eyes. But that spark disappeared as Julia sprung from her seat and stood between the barrel of the gun and her vampire lover. Barnabas begged her to get out of his way numerous times; each time, Julia refused to budge. Barnabas would just glance between Julia and Tom, anger filling his expression as he tried to think of a way out of the situation.

It would have been the perfect moment for Tom to gloat. Barnabas Collins, a man who normally oozed arrogance and control, was unable to command his closest confidante. If there was ever a moment to laugh, it was now. But it would just be a waste of time, not to mention that it would just enrage Barnabas further. The man was teetering on the breaking point. Anyone pushed to the brink would do anything to relieve his tension. His relief would probably come by emptying a gun into Tom's body. If that was going to be the case, he wouldn't be waiting around to see if Barnabas would reach the edge. Tom dematerialized and fled the building.

Tom reappeared a few feet away from the Old House. "Okay, that didn't go well," he snapped. He had known what he would walk into; why did the tension affect him? Had he actually felt sorry for Barnabas Collins? That couldn't be good. He felt so unsure of things now. He had to be losing his mind. He needed to feed and fast.

Tom knew what he needed, but he didn't know where to search for it. He didn't know if anyone else in the Collins family knew that he had returned. If they did, he couldn't hunt on their ground because they would catch him. Could he go into the village? His connections inside the community had been flimsy at best. To most people, he had been either the nice, "good ole boy" handyman or the younger brother of that boy who went away. They probably wouldn't recognize his face from anyone else's. He could go inside a bar or restaurant, pick some poor soul up, and end that life in a nearby alley. It was as good a plan as any.

But Tom didn't want to do it. He had never picked a person up in such a way. He knew 15-year-olds that were more experienced at such a rouse than he was. He didn't want to go, but he felt he had no choice. There were two voices speaking inside his head: the voice of the conscience and the voice of the blood. Although the former had been more powerful in life, the latter had taken over his spirit in death. It gave him no peace. Tom hated this compulsion and, for that, hated himself. He had become a slave to his thirst; he couldn't take it anymore.

Instead of walking into town, Tom wandered back toward the cemetery. It was quiet and, to Tom's delight, absent of even the façade of life. He fought the hunger as he walked back to his crypt. He only wanted sleep and if possible, to do so forever. This life was too much for him to take. He probably wouldn't gain the person he wanted; he more than likely would have to live off the lives of the lowest society had to offer; and he would not have felt that he had no chance for rest. Although mortals feared death, in the end, most go gratefully into its embrace. One can only live so long before the energy leaves and the need for silence takes over. What did Tom have to look forward to? The next kill? It had only taken a week, but he was now ready to die and start down the road he had been originally scheduled to walk.

As he moved toward his home, he heard rustling from the distance. After a small delay, he caught the smell of blood drifting in the air. Someone had decided to enter the fold. Tom couldn't notice this person's thoughts so he had no clue as to why this idiot had resolved to enter a cemetery. Yet how dare this person enter his world? As much as he wanted to turn away from it, Tom began to walk toward the smell. This person wouldn't be Julia, but this person was alive and ready to bleed. This person would end his pain. Yet, as ready as he was to feed, he was taken aback the moment he saw who was before him.

Elizabeth Stoddard walked among the graves mumbling to her self in a soft, unintelligible voice. Tom knew he couldn't bite Mrs. Stoddard. She had been so kind to him during his life. He couldn't take her life away, especially not when she was in such a low position. "Had I not worked for her, I wouldn't be here," he suddenly realized. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth Stoddard and her misplaced act of kindness, he wouldn't be where he was on this night. If only indirectly, she was the cause of his unending damnation. Tom knew that he had to show her the fruits of her actions, and with that, he stepped out of the shadows and into her line of sight.

It took no time for Elizabeth to realize that he was there. "Who are you?" she asked in a newly crazed voice. "What are you doing here?"

Tom didn't answer. He just stared down on his intended prey, delighting in the sight of the quickening pulse in her neck. Oh, if he could only inspire a little more fear, just enough to send her blood pounding through her body. He could just barely nip her, then, and the blood would flow easily into his needing mouth. But it really didn't matter; her blood would find home in his stomach one way or another.

Tom cracked the thinnest of smiles at Elizabeth Stoddard. When her bemused expression showed that she didn't understand, he extended the smile, allowing his razor like fangs to peak through and slip over his lips. This message she read easily and let out a mind-blowing howl to prove it. Tom should have pounced her at that moment, but he didn't. He first tried to quiet her, but when that didn't work, he fled in a puff of smoke. There was no telling who else was in the cemetery. If he hadn't left, any member of the Collins family who had followed their matriarch into no man's land would have discovered him. It was all so stressful! Tom was more than happy to return to his crypt. The darkness would do him good.

And for a few moments, he found his tranquility in the cool abyss. But just as soon as he felt comfortable, he began to sense someone approaching his crypt. He slipped further into the shadows and watched as a form emerged from the door. Tom could barely contain his delight: it was Julia! So she had been able to escape Barnabas Collins! He almost crept out of the darkness; all that stopped him was the sound of more footsteps. A few moments later, Elizabeth Stoddard entered the room. She looked over at the coffin and seemed to tense up instantly. She turned to Julia and asked, "Is it for me?"

Julia's anger was apparent. "Elizabeth," she said forcefully, "go home! This has nothing to do with you." Mrs. Stoddard didn't hesitate as she followed her houseguest's orders. Tom couldn't deny that he was impressed; it seemed his love wanted him more than he had bargained. He waited until the intruder was completely out of earshot before emerging from his hiding place. Julia removed her scarf immediately, revealing to him the scars of their last encounter. The sight of those red welts was enough to send him over the edge. He moved up to Julia and, taking her into his arms, sank his fangs into her neck.

It was so much better than he had remembered! Tom couldn't get close enough to her as he quietly drained her body. As he drank, Julia moaned and rubbed up against his body as he drank. She was trying to arouse him; she didn't have to do much to get him there. His body hardened against hers, begging for sweet release. But he couldn't find it the old fashioned way. Death had left his cock as limp as a cold wet noodle. Then again, the blood was all he really needed. He took from her body what he needed and, when rapture gripped his body, dropped her to the floor without warning.

It took a moment for Tom to realize what he had done. He bent down and checked Julia's pulse, breathing an uncertain sigh of relief as he rose to his feet. She had not died although she was almost dead. If he had taken a few more draughts of her blood, she would have been set to rise by tomorrow's nightfall. Technically, this was what he wanted. At the same time, he wasn't able to deal with it. He couldn't stay with her, not now. Tom fled the crypt quickly. He didn't have to worry about Julia; she wasn't going anywhere.

He walked around for an hour or so, staring up at the moonlit sky as he carefully dodged the oncoming trees. What was he doing with his life? In a few hours, he was going to return to the crypt and, for the first time, take someone's life. He had never purposefully killed an animal, much less a human. Tom felt that he couldn't go through with Julia's murder. And yet part of him was very aware of the fact that he was no longer human. He didn't react to the world in the way he had before. He was no longer playing by human rules. And living by these new rules left him incredibly isolated and lonely. If killing Julia would end that seclusion, it had to be done.

When Tom finally decided to wander back to his crypt, it was verging on daybreak. He knew that he didn't have much time to kill Julia, but he knew just as well that he didn't really need a great deal to finish his mission. He had left her near death; she was almost his.

As he moved closer to the crypt he sensed that something was amiss. The sound of quickly approaching footsteps sent him scurrying behind a tree. He looked back to see Barnabas Collins' manservant frantically running away from the crypt. "Oh God," mumbled Tom. "That idiot has found me out." Taking Julia was now out of the question. His only goal for the rest of the quickly fading night was to stay alive.

Tom slipped quietly into the crypt and saw Barnabas Collins standing by with hammer and stake in hand. Hypocritical bastard! Barnabas had probably taken extra care to stop anyone from ending his own "horrid" experience, but when another vampire enters into his town, he's the first to pick up the pike.

For some odd reason, Barnabas seemed surprised to see Tom standing before him. Didn't he realize that a vampire would return to its hiding place before sunrise? Was Tom the only other vampire he had ever seen with his own eyes? That really wasn't the question at the moment. Tom, who had been able to successfully knock the hammer from Barnabas' hands, fought with his enemy over the stake. Barnabas kept trying to remind him of the coming dawn. Tom wasn't that stupid. He wasn't about to go to sleep and leave the man who would kill him free to do so. He knocked the stake from Barnabas' hands and pushed him into the coffin. For the shortest moment, he stared into this man's eyes and he saw a fear there that he had never seen before. How many times had this one looked into the eyes of his victims and saw the same look of mortal dread, the knowing that there would be no more sunrises or spring days once this night ended. More than anyone, Barnabas deserved to meet this kind of end. Tom would enjoy this task.

Just as he leaned in for the kill, a rooster crowed and broke Tom's trance. 'Dammit,' he thought, 'It's coming quicker than I had expected.' Tom could feel the air begin to heat up around him. The sun was rising and he needed to get into the coffin. Barnabas, thinking that he was clever, said, "It's too late. The sun has come." Tom could feel the sneer smearing across his face as he pushed the smug prude to the floor, watching as his head bounced off the stone surface and fell unconscious. Someone needed to teach that man not to speak out of turn. Tom was glad that had been given the chance. As much as he wanted to remove Barnabas from the crypt, he couldn't chance walking outside. The sun was rising quicker, sapping away his strength as it searched its place out in the sky. With much trepidation, Tom climbed into the coffin and shut himself away for the day.

Tom usually waited until the he felt that the sun had completely risen before sleeping, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything more than close his eyes. That man remained alive and he would do anything in his power to snuff out the life that lay in the coffin. He knew that he hadn't knocked Barnabas out for the day. Soon enough, he would come to, pick up his instruments, and pound the stake into Tom's heart. Although Tom was tired of this life, he wasn't ready to die, especially not by Barnabas Collins' hand.

A few minutes after sunrise, Tom heard the coffin lid creep open. Barnabas had come around after all! Had he opened the lid a few minutes earlier, Tom still might have had the strength to reach out and grab his attacker, forcing lengthened nails into the skin before sinking his fangs into the nearest vein. But the sun had sapped all of his strength and Tom was forced to lay back and allow this to happen.

"How many times has another stood over my coffin, stake in hand with the intention to end my life?" mused Barnabas.

'Hundreds of times! Now feel sorry for me and leave!' thought Tom angrily. Barnabas didn't seem to be receiving the message. He placed the stake over Tom's heart.

Even before the hammer sent it into his body, Tom could feel the tip of the stake sinking into his day-weakened skin. It created a small amount of pressure in his chest and seemed to ready the rest of his body for pain that was to come. Tom knew that he wouldn't be ready. His past didn't pass through his mind as much as his future did. Every missed moment, be it from his mortal life or from his immortal one, flew past his eyes, bringing with it unmistakable joy and undeniable grief. He was 24. Although his life had never been pleasant, it wasn't supposed to end like this.

Tom faintly heard the hammer swing above him, a silent swish before he felt his heart burst in his chest. Pressure built in side, pushing against skin, muscle and bone in a futile attempt to escape. Tom thought he would explode if he didn't do something fast. The only thing he knew to do was scream, releasing the tension in his chest and the blood that had flown into his mouth after the impact. Although he was dying, he could still feel the fear rising in Barnabas Collins; he wanted him to be afraid. He wanted Barnabas to remember what it looked and sounded like to take the life of someone when they were at their most vulnerable. This was meant to be an experience that would stick.

After the air was gone, Tom fell into permanent silence. The blood that remained in his body pooled in his lungs, constricting further breathing and sapping away the remaining oxygen. Since blood flow had ceased, his limbs began to go numb and quickly die away. His vision had begun to fade and his world soon turned to black. For a few moments more, Tom could hear the ragged beating of Barnabas' still exasperated heart taunting him. If he had only been stronger . . .

And then there was nothing. The body had totally given out and the soul was looking for a way out. He felt so deeply relaxed as the life trickled away from him. He wasn't fighting it anymore, allowing his body to release and fall into place.

And it was all over. There was no more anger, no more frustration. His life was over and Tom Jennings was truly at peace.


	13. Conclusion Part 1

It had only been a few hours since his resurrection but Tom Jennings believed that he had finally regained control of his body. His movements before had been clumsy and disjointed. To anyone looking on, he must have appeared to be an extra in a zombie movie; it was embarrassing. But Tom knew that only a handful of people had seen him in his current state. Even those few were too many. 

Who gave Nicholas Blair the right to revive the dead? Tom knew that he had not been a ward to Hell's estate. Death had not been some trip into fire, brimstone, and eternal torture. Then again, death had not brought him back to his long lost loved ones; there had been no angels or sparkling dreamscapes in his afterlife. Still, it had been pure bliss for Tom. He found solace in the void that death had brought him. There were no responsibilities, no family drudgery, no Collins job, no Julia Hoffman, and, gratefully, no need for blood. Frustration no longer a chased him down. In truth, he felt little at all. His main emotion had been pure and unadulterated relief. He was finally where he wanted to be.

However, sometime during his calm, he began to feel pain. It seemed to pull on him, tugging him out of his heaven and dragging him somewhere else. Since he had no way to stop it, he allowed the pain to take him from his home and lead him to an unknown destination.

When he came to, he felt heavy, drugged. He looked up into his dulled surroundings and saw Nicholas Blair standing before him, stake in hand and a sneer on his face. Tom glanced to his side and recognized his nighttime home. Why was he in the coffin? What was happening?

Tom was most shocked to hear Blair command him to rise. Who did he think he was? He knew very well that he was dead and that, at this point in his existence, no one could tell him what and what not to do. But against his will, Tom's body crudely rose from its wooden sheath and stepped in front of its commander. Tom tried to talk, but he found he couldn't utter more than a squeak. Carefully, he touched the space over his heart, searching for the puncture wound that had ended his life. To his surprise, he couldn't find it. The skin over the injury had healed and even the rip in his shirt had been repaired. Somehow, he was alive again; he couldn't have felt sicker.

Tom listened weakly as Blair gave his order: kill Victoria Winters. He didn't offer a reason for this orchestrated murder. It didn't matter; Tom couldn't take the order seriously. Ms Winters was a bigger threat to herself than she ever could be to anyone else. He wouldn't kill her because he saw no need for it.

But once again, Tom's body fled the building when Blair told it to, taking flight quickly and touching down moments later outside Victoria's window at Collinwood. Tom didn't understand what was going on. Had he lost complete control of his own body? If he lived out this night, would he be damned into being Nicholas Blair's private lackey? This was worse than his first try at vampirism. At least then, he had been in control of his actions. Now, he was nothing more than a glorified puppet. Tom sensed that even if he fought his master's commands, he would eventually find himself following them to fruition.

As carefully as was now possible, Tom opened her window and slipped inside. For a moment, he stared at Ms Winters and marvel at her porcelain beauty. She possessed such thick hair and a slim, gentle frame. If he was being forced to kill a person, it might as well be her. To top it off, she would rise the next day as a vampire if he succeeded. Maybe Nicholas would let him keep her? If he was going to be an eternal slave, he might as well have someone around to keep him company. He would have to put in the request.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Tom crept into Victoria's room, sliding up to her bed with fangs extended. She looked lovelier with every step he took toward her. He watched as she stirred and, quite accidentally, looked up into his face. It only took a moment for her to realize that something was wrong and she screamed. She leapt out of bed and tried to escape the room. But she wasn't quick enough to escape Tom. He caught her not far from the door, causing Ms Winters to pass out. 'This is going to be so easy,' he thought as he wrapped her into his arms. He bent down and grazed his mouth against her neck, choosing to savor the taste and smell of her skin before he went for her blood. It had been months since he had last tasted another's flesh. He would enjoy this a good deal.

As he opened his mouth wider over her neck, Tom heard the door creek open. He looked up to see Barnabas Collins standing in the doorway, his eyes glazed over in fury as he looked at the scene before him. Blood would just have to wait. Tom let Victoria fall to the ground and turned to leave. He didn't bother to look behind him as he jumped out the opened window and took to flight. Unless things had drastically changed since he had died, no one would be able to follow him in the air.

Tom landed outside the House-by-the-Sea, panting and barely able to hold himself erect. Barnabas Collins knew that he was alive. If he wasn't able to get out of Collinsport, he probably wouldn't be so for much longer. He had to tell Nicholas that he had failed; he would take his punishment if he must, but he had to make him understand that he had been interrupted. He had to understand!

As he slowly approached the house, Tom could hear an argument going on. He attempted to run up to the house so that he could see what was going on, but his legs would not do as he told them to do. He could only walk with stiff, unwilling legs. Tom took a deep breath and slowly walked to the house, moving one leg at a time until he found some degree of comfort.

Tom slithered up to the window and peaked inside the window. He couldn't believe what he saw. He watched on as Blair argued with, of all people, Chris Jennings. "You were his last employer," insisted Chris. "He was attacked after leaving your house. You have to have some idea as to what happened to my brother."

"Not necessarily," countered Blair. "Just because he worked for me doesn't mean that I know, nor am I responsible, for what happened to your brother once he left this house."

Tom bit the inside of his mouth as he listened to Blair deny any knowledge of what had happened. He looked as smug as ever, but his minion was able to detect a few chinks in his demonic armor. Life amongst the mortals had weakened his natural instincts. If Chris were good, he could ask the question that would cause Blair to show his true colors. Unfortunately, Chris seemed unable to do this and each of his inquiries lead to a blatant denial. Even after he caught a glimpse of Tom in the window, Blair continued to remain mum about his involvement.

Yet Nicholas Blair seemed to be unable to take his eyes away from the window. His stare remained steady as Chris continued to talk, railing on about how he ought to have some clue as to what happened. It took a few minutes for Tom's brother to realize that Blair was no longer listening to him. Chris followed the man's eyes and cast an awkward glance toward the window. For the briefest of moments, Tom believed that his brother had seen him. He would not wait around to find out. Tom took to flight, desperately trying to escape all that was around him.

Tom fell back to earth miles away from the House-by-the-Sea; he knew that he had fled Collins property entirely. But that would do him no good because he would have to return to Blair's house before sunrise. The time away gave Nicholas plenty of opportunity to find out that he had botched the Winters murder. It also gave Barnabas Collins the chance to find his hiding place. The way events were moving, Tom felt that he wouldn't live through the night.

"But he cared to check up on me," he whispered softly as he rose to his feet. His older brother had come back to a town he obviously hated in order to find out what had happened to him. Maybe Chris had loved him all those years ago; maybe he had been unable to say so. Either way, he would be an excellent ally to have. But drafting Chris to his side would mean that Tom would have to show himself to his brother and reveal that he had become, of all things, a vampire. It would seem too improbable. Would his brother believe it? A confrontation between them would be painful, but it had to be done.

Now, if only he could find his brother. Although returning to Blair's house would be the most likely place to go, Tom had a spot he wanted to check first. The only reason Chris had known about Tom's death was Genevieve's telephone call. She had also been the one to ask him to return to Collinsport. It was highly probable that Chris would be checking in with her so that they could discuss his meeting with Blair. Catching them both would be the perfect occasion for him to tell them both that he was alive . . . in a sense. Tom took off for his former home, hoping upon hopes that he had guessed correctly.


	14. Conclusion Part 2

Tom drifted over to the house and scanned the grounds to see if Chris' car sitting in the front yard. The only one there was Genevieve's rusting relic. "Well, at least she's here," he mumbled as he floated to the earth. It had been months since he had seen his former lover and he felt as ready as ever to see her again. Yet, he didn't know if he'd feel comfortable in her presence. Although he had never been the smooth charmer, he realized that his current state would seem horrible to Genevieve. So before he attempted to enter the house, Tom tried to calm his body, attempting to normalize body movements and push his growing thirst away. He couldn't reunite with Genevieve just to harm her.

Once he believed that he looked "normal" enough for Genevieve, Tom wandered around to the back door and tried to open it. To his surprise, the knob gave to pressure and the door swung open. He immediately felt that something was amiss; neither he nor Genevieve would ever leave the doors unlocked after dark. 'But that was only done to make sure no one came for Amy,' he remembered. With the young girl gone, he figured that Genevieve might not be as worried about the safety of either their things or her life.

"Of course she could be hurt," whispered Tom. He had spent so much time away for her protection; he didn't think he'd be able to stand it if their reunion was over her wounded body. If she were in danger, he had to help her.

Tom walked into the house, quietly slipping through the back hallway until he found himself facing the kitchen. He was shocked by its cleared, deserted condition. The last time he had seen it, the room had still been filled with the boxes that held most of their worldly possessions. It was bare now, clean of dust, dirt, and appliances. He checked many of the other rooms and each one was stripped down.

Yet, as he moved closer to the living area, he began to sense that a living thing was in the house. He leaned back against the wall and sniffed at the air. 'It's Gene!' he thought. How could he have not realized that the moment he walked inside? The more he recognized it, the more he realized that he was surrounded by her smell. He should have recognized her scent sooner.

Tom walked further, glancing into each room before stopping in the living room doorway. Genevieve sat on a weathered leather suitcase in the middle of the floor. She was completely oblivious to Tom as he stared at her. Her eyes were focused solely on her watch, letting her brows crease her forehead while occasionally letting out a wayward sigh. "It's been two hours," she groaned. "What's taking him so long?"

Genevieve shot up from her seat, causing Tom to slip further into the hallway, hiding in the shadows as he watched her pace the floor. "It can't take two hours for Chris to question Blair. God, I hope I didn't send another Jennings boy to his death. I should've just met him at the Collinsport Inn. It would've been easier than sitting around in the house of memories. I'm so glad I'm leaving!

"Even with everything gone, I can't help but see Tom everywhere I look. He's in the doorway, he's in the kitchen, and he's in the fucking bedroom! I can't deal with it. I can't . . . who's there?" she asked cautiously. Genevieve moved closer to the doorway, constantly asking, "Who are you? What are you doing here? This is private property! Leave now!"

Tom could barely stand feeling Genevieve approach him. The smell of both her skin and blood inched toward him, warming the air around him and raising the blood thirst back into his mind. She would find him in a few moments; why should he hide any further? Tom took a deep breath and slipped into the light. Genevieve gawked at first, staring intensely on the man who had just revealed himself. But after a few minutes, she released an uneasy breath and began to laugh. "Jesus, Chris! You scared me to death. I was worried sick for you and then you go and do something like this. You probably heard everything I said." She paused for a moment, seemingly in wait for his response. "Well, aren't you going to say something?"

Tom tried to find the words to say, but nothing initially came out. "Cat got your tongue?" asked Genevieve.

"You could say that," Tom finally murmured.

Genevieve paused again, staring at Tom with new eyes. "You okay, Chris?" He shook his head. Genevieve smiled and began to walk up to him. However, she stopped once they were within a foot of one another. She looked more intently at his face, and, upon putting the images together in her head, started to back away. Tom moved to follow her, only to be stopped by Genevieve's up turned palm. "Stay back," she warned, "please stay where you are!"

Tom did as he was asked, watching on while Genevieve retreated. She slowly slid to the floor upon hitting it wall. She pulled her knees to chest and looked ahead, eyes going glassy as she stared at Tom. "It can't be," she spoke tearfully. "You can't be alive. I . . . I saw them bury you."

"I'm sure you did."

"But you're dead! You can't be here if you're dead."

Tom shook his head. Cautiously, he walked up to Genevieve and stood in front of her. Tom extended his hand to her and said, "Take it. Feel it and believe."

She looked at the hand idly for a few seconds before she decided to touch it. At first, she would only run a finger up and down the contours of his fingers. Soon, the look of disgust evaporated from her face and she took his hand into both of hers, caressing at first with her fingers and then with her lips. Tom cupped the side of her face with his free hand as he knelt down to her level. "Do you believe?"

"I do, I do!" she wept. She wrapped her hands around his face. She cringed slightly when his frigid hands slipped onto her thighs, but she soon calmed into a steady panic. "You're so cold, darling. What's happened to you? Tom, what's going on?"

"I understand it as well as you do, Gene. It's beyond anything I've ever dealt with."

"Okay . . . but do you know who did this to you?" Genevieve paused, crunching her lips into a painful purse before snarling, "Was it Nicholas Blair?"

"Yes . . . and this woman that he kept in his basement. I know that it sounds silly, but when I was working at his house, I found a coffin there. When I left the house, a blonde woman in a flimsy nightgown attacked me. She attacked me again in the hospital; I come to the next day to find out that . . . well, you know."

Genevieve nodded. "Have you been at his house for all these months?"

"No. Listen, there's a story to go along with all of this. I'm not proud of any of the things I've done or attempted to do and I really don't want to go into the details right now. I don't think I have much time."

"Are you in trouble," she asked.

"I'm in deep trouble. I was supposed to kill someone for Blair tonight."

"Were you going to do it?" Tom nodded. "You didn't have a choice did you?"

"No, but . . . it's more than what you think it is, Gene. I'm a much different person than the one you knew."

"I don't doubt it," said Genevieve through a strained chuckle. She shuddered but continued to hold Tom's face. "He's going to kill you for not killing whomever you were supposed to do away with, right?"

"I believe so."

"Do you know that your brother went to see Blair tonight?"

"I saw him in the house. Chris was trying to find out what Blair knew."

"Do you think he'd hurt Chris to get to you?" asked Genevieve.

Tom shook his head quickly. "I don't think he'd go that route. Then again, I don't understand why he did what he did to me. I saw a coffin. Big deal! I thought it was strange and I might have told the police about it. But I would have talk to you before hand, and you would have told me to forget about it. You'd say that he was Collins related and that you'd heard a trillion stories about how eccentric they were. (Might I add that you're absolutely right!) I wasn't a threat. Nothing would have happened to him."

"Shh . . . you can't worry about that now," insisted Genevieve. "What's done has been done. What we have to focus on now is making sure Blair gets his and that he doesn't hurt you."

"We don't have anything to hold over Blair! Whose going to believe that I came to you and told you that Blair is responsible for my murder?"

"We'll go to the station tomorrow morning with both you and Chris just so they can see that you're two different people. They'll check your fingerprints or your blood type or something so that they'll know that you are Tom Jennings. Believe me, tomorrow morning will be the beginning of the end of Mr. Nicholas Blair."

Tom hated to tell her that her plan wouldn't work, but he knew that it had to be done. She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would fry in the morning sun. She didn't know what he was. "Forget about Blair for now," said Tom. "We need to leave town. By we, I mean all of us . . . you, Chris, Amy, and me. None of us needs to be here tomorrow morning; we can't leave anyone behind."

"Okay, we'll leave once Chris returns. But what about Amy?" she asked.

"I'll break her out of Windcliff."

"But they'll catch you. It's too dangerous!"

"Honey, I might not like what's been done to me, but I have to admit it's given me a few advantages. I'll be able to sneak in and out of that building without anyone catching me."

Genevieve nodded unsurely. She really didn't understand what was going on, but Tom could tell that she was too afraid to ask questions. "Okay," she whispered. "I'm not quite sure if I like this plan, but I can go along with it. My only fear is that we won't be able to flee very quickly. Tomorrow, they'll know that either Chris or I took Amy. If we're gone, they'll be looking throughout Maine for us."

"It's fine, Gene. We won't stop being on the move and it's not that hard to obtain false identification. Both you and Chris used to party with a guy in Portland who made fake ID's for college kids. I remember both of you using his name before. I know that it'll take us a while to actually get to Portland, but we'll be traveling nonstop. It'll be sometime during the day before they even realize that Amy's gone. We'll be far from Collinsport by then."

"That's all well and good, but what are we going to do about you? You're not like the rest of us anymore. You probably don't need many of the things that we have to offer. Do you have any special needs stuff that we need to pick up before we head off?" inquired Genevieve.

"Ugh. Let me put it this way: both of those things aren't going to be too hard to get hold of, but one of them I'm not really eager to go after," said Tom.

"Explain."

"Well, hold up a moment: we might not need one of those! You've got a pretty big trunk don't you?" Genevieve mumbled an awkward affirmative. "YES! We're not going to have to steal a coffin for awhile. Of course, we're going to have to put a little dirt in but not much. Hell, we can find a way to put it into my clothes, maybe my socks or shoes. Great, it's not going to be a big deal."

"Uh-huh." Genevieve took her hands from his face and laced them into her lap. She looked up into his eyes and asked, "Tom, what are you?"

"I don't know if you're ready for that."

"Of course I am! If I'm ready to leave town with you and break your sister out of Windcliff, I'm ready to hear it. Hell, I think I have the right to know what I'm getting into before I start breaking the law."

"You sure?" The piqued look on Genevieve's face showed that she did. "Okay . . . I'm a vampire."

"Vampire?" she asked, although Tom could tell that she didn't want an answer. She went silent with closed eyes, thinking as she twirled her thumbs inanely. She looked up quickly and said, "Prove it to me. Open up."

"Huh?"

"Open up." She opened her mouth wide to reveal "normal" teeth. Tom groaned but did as she asked. Genevieve moved closer to him and stared into his mouth, occasionally emitting an "oh my" as she examined his lengthened canines. She carefully slipped her finger into his mouth and stroked a fang, only removing the finger after it accidentally poked the tip of a tooth. A couple of drops of blood manage to slip onto his tongue before she could remove the injured digit. "Oh shit! You're telling the truth. You really are a vampire."

"Yes," Tom managed to mumble. Those few beads of blood had been enough to awaken his thirst. He could barely stand to watch her grip the wounded finger, knowing that bits of precious plasma were being wasted in the palm of her hand. "Gene, go clean the wound now. I can't deal with the smell."

"Really? When was the last time you fed?"

"It's been months."

"But you've been dead for months. How many people have you bitten?" asked Genevieve.

"I've bitten one person and she continues to live."

"Have you just been feeding off of her for the last few months?"

"You don't understand," insisted Tom. "I 'lived' for about a week before someone was able to hunt me down. He laid me to rest for what was supposed to be an eternity. Of course, Nicholas Blair had something else in mind for me and that's why I'm here now."

"Bastard. Then you must be starving?"

"Yes but we can deal with that later. Right now, we have to wait for Chris and run the plan by him."

"But you have to be so weak. You're probably not working at full potential."

"So?"

"So take of me," offered Genevieve. She uncupped her hands, allowing him to see the pool of dried blood in the center of her palm. "You want it; I can see the lust dancing in your eyes. Take my hand . . . no," she said before rolling back her collar, "take from here."

"You don't want me to." Tom knew he did, though. He couldn't pry his eyes away from her neck, mesmerized by the pulsing vein hidden just beneath the surface. There was nothing he wanted more than to feed from her, but he believed that Genevieve Reeves was the last person he needed to mark. Although he had changed, Tom still loved her; she was intrinsically above anyone he'd have to kill. "You don't know what you're asking of me."

"I'm asking you to sink those fangs of yours into my neck and drink my blood. I know that's what I proposed to you. Why won't you take it?"

"Because I love you and I don't want to hurt you!" exclaimed Tom.

"And I'm offering you this because I love you and I don't want you to hurt," explained Genevieve calmly. She inched closer to Tom, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her against his chest. "I want you to have what you need. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I could take too much. You could die."

"What would happen to me if I died?"

"You'd become a vampire."

"Then I don't see the problem." Genevieve glanced back into Tom's eyes, showing him that her own was filmed over in a thin sheet of tears. "My blood his all I have to give to you. If it ends up making me like you, then I'm fine with it. We've been apart for so long that I don't see what alittle togetherness could harm. Do it, Tom."

"Don't make me do this!"

"I don't have to make you do anything! You want to do it."

Genevieve was right. He couldn't look at her without seeing the trace work of her circulatory system. He hadn't wanted her this bad since they first met.

Tom leaned in and pressed his lips against Genevieve's. Their kiss began chastely but soon intensified as both of them probed the other with tongues and hands. As Genevieve's nails dug into his back, Tom picked her up and propped her body up against the wall. She braced her foot against it and pulled Tom closer. "It's been so long. I can't pass this up."

Their playing seemed to stretch out forever. She writhed in response to his touch, grinding her body against his and begging him through impassioned groans for him to continue. Although it was something they had rarely done during life, Tom was pleased to be so near her again. He loved the feel of the heat rising from Genevieve, which seem to intensify by the second. His eyes continually scanned her body, relishing her lust flushed face and swollen breasts. If he were brazen, he would bleed her from her hardened nipples, suckling from her body like a hungry child. Of course, that would probably disturb her, so Tom decided to go for the traditional bite.

At the moment where she seemed closest to ecstacy, she screamed, "Take me now, Tom! Now!" Tom fell onto her neck and bit, slicing into her vein and unleashing a torrent of blood into his mouth. Genevieve's moans failed to subside; in fact, they increased as she continued to move against his stagnant form. "Oh God, more . . . more, please!" He didn't need her urging to continue. Her blood tasted a million times sweeter than Julia's, sweeter than anything he had had before. He didn't know if he could stop. His nourishment deprived body ached for what she could give him.

He didn't know how long they stood like that, their limbs entangled as Tom bled his lover. On occasion, she would give off an encouraging squeak or caress the top of his head. He could feel her weakening in his arms. Yet as much as he wanted to spare her, he knew that it was now out of his hands. Even if he stopped drinking from her, he had taken too much blood for her to recover. Genevieve would to die and Tom would be her killer.

The moment came sooner than he had expected. Genevieve sighed softly and her arms went limp. Tom removed his fangs from her neck and looked at her. Her naturally pale skin was bleached white with lips that had begun to turn an unsettling shade of blue. Tom lifted the lid of one of her closed eyes and saw the upturned iris. "What have I done?" he whispered as he lowered her to the floor. As a final precaution, he checked her pulse. There was no way to deny it: Genevieve was dead.

Tom arranged her body neatly on the ground, making sure that her skirt was straight and that her long blonde hair covered the faint wounds on her neck. He paced around her body mindlessly. Chris would be back any minute. How was he going to explain to his brother that he had just killed Genevieve, but that it would be okay because she would wake up tomorrow night? Chris would think it insane. But he would have to believe. After all, his once dead brother walked the earth again. Who could say that his dead girlfriend wouldn't do the same?

Tom finally lay down beside Genevieve's lifeless body. As he wrapped his arms around her, he could feel the heat that was quickly evaporating from her. He loved this last bit of her mortality. It would be the last time that he held her in human form. He would miss this side of her, but there would be a better side of that would arise tomorrow. They would no longer have a reason to be apart. Never again would Tom have to leave Genevieve behind. They would finally have their happily ever after.

But just as Tom began to feel comfortable with his actions, he began to feel an alien presence feel the room. Tom looked up to see a black clad figure looming over him, glaring down with red rimmed eyes on the scene before him. "Who are you?" demanded Tom. "What are you doing here?"

"You've been a bad boy, Mr. Jennings," reprimanded the form in a gravel-laden voice. "You didn't do as your master asked you."

"I tried to do what Nicholas asked of me," insisted Tom, "but I was interrupted. If I had been left alone, Victoria Winters would be dead."

"But she's not. Now Barnabas Collins is onto the scheme."

"That's not my fault! How was I to know that he was nearby?" Tom curled closer to Genevieve as he asked, "What does this mistake mean to me?"

"So you have to be punished," answered the man calmly.

Tom groaned and fell back into Genevieve. But he suddenly felt as if he were leaning against the air. He opened his eyes to see that he was being pulled away from her body. He tried in vain to hold on, grasping at her limbs in the hopes of being anchored to the ground. However, the force acting against him was too much, and Tom soon found himself staring at Genevieve from across the room.

He watched as the man withdrew something from his cloak. The closer the stranger moved to Genevieve, the clearer the objects appeared to Tom. The man carried a stake and hammer. "No! You can't do this to her!" screamed Tom. "Punish me. Hurt me!"

The man didn't listen. He leaned over Genevieve's unresisting body and placed the stake above her heart. He let skeletal fingers embrace the curve of her jaw before he ran the stake through her chest with one quick swing. Tom tried to run to her body but the force that had torn them apart held him in place, allowing him to writhe in its grip but not letting him leave. Genevieve leapt up once struck, releasing a scream like none other as the last bits of blood that had been in her body crept out of her nose and mouth.

Tom stared on in shock as the man rose from his post and walked toward him. He waved a hand in front of his prisoner's face and said, "This is what happens when one fails to complete Hell's orders. See that it doesn't happen again."

In a flash, he was gone.

Tom, finding that he could again move, scurried to Genevieve's body and cradled her, wailing like a child as he rocked. He had been so close to finding happiness and now it was gone.

"But Nicholas removed the stake from my heart and I lived. Maybe I can try this with her," thought Tom aloud. He placed Genevieve back on the floor and straddled her body. He took a breath and pulled the stake from her heart, bringing with it a few meager drops of blood and miniscule pieces of her heart. Her body bucked with the removal and the pressure release forced a sigh from her lips. At least it looked hopeful. Tom stared at her waiting for some sign of life; none appeared.

"She doesn't have any blood," he began to reason. "When I had died, I had been full of it." Tom pulled back his sleeve and bit into his wrist. He lowered the bleeding limb over Genevieve's mouth, begging her to drink. She didn't. Instead, the blood pooled in her mouth and slid down the sides of her face to collect on the floor. Soon, the wound healed by itself. Tom was left sitting over a bloodied Genevieve, her blonde hair matted red and her dead lips and teeth stained its cruel color. Tom had to face the truth. She was gone.

As awkward as the first situation would have been to explain to his brother, Tom knew that this scene was a million times much worse. He had to get her body out of the house and bury it, preferably somewhere far from this place.

Tom searched through her suitcase and found what he knew he would. Genevieve had probably planned to stay at the Collinsport Inn for the night. She had had a quirk about not sleeping on hotel linens. In her bag, Tom found a set of cream-colored bed sheets. He spread one out across the floor. He ran back to Genevieve's body to place it in the sheets but he didn't do so instantly. Her face had taken on sleep's sublimity; she was as lovely as ever in death. Tom took a seat next to Genevieve and stroked her blood soaked hair. Cautiously, he leaned down and kissed her, hoping to taste the lasts bits of his lover that remained before he buried her. All he could taste was the drying blood. Tom licked those remnants from her mouth, cringing a bit at the bitterness that remained. When it was gone, he kissed her again and found what he wanted. Underneath the death, the person she had been in life remained. Tom took what was left before placing his lover in the sheets and tightly wrapping her body inside.

He placed her suitcase on top of her body, grabbed her purse, and left the house for Genevieve's car. Tom carefully positioned her body in the backseat and chunked the suitcase in the passenger's side. He searched through the purse until he found her heavy key chain before tossing it with the luggage and stepping into the car. Much to his chagrin, it took a minute to remember how to use the car once he started it. "This isn't getting me anywhere!" he hissed before pulling out onto the road.

Tom drove like a madman toward the cemetery, swerving on both sides of the line and dodging many an irate driver in his rush. He thought little of it until he sideswiped a familiar car. He looked behind him and attempted to repress his anger. "Shit…it's Chris!" His brother didn't realize who was driving but he did recognize the car. Chris turned around in nearby driveway and took off after Genevieve's car. Tom floored the accelerator and took back paths to the cemetery, hoping to get Chris off his trail. Of course his brother had cruised every back road in Collinsport and could follow the car easily.

Quite suddenly, Tom looked in his mirror to see that Chris' car was gone. Had he given up? Had he gotten the message? More than likely. Chris was probably going to go home and see if Genevieve knew that someone had swiped her car. Tom knew that all he would find would be a few spots of blood. This was getting worse by the minute. He might have been better off waiting on Chris and telling him the truth; but it was too late to change things now. Tom turned into the cemetery, ready to do what he knew must be done.

Tom took out her body, suitcase, and purse and carried them to the spot that held his headstone. Quickly, he searched the nearby grounds to find a wayward shovel lying beside a newly dug grave. Tom returned to his spot and dug out the hole, letting the dirt rise high before he found the pit deep enough. Once done, he climbed out and retrieved Genevieve's body, placing it lovingly into what had been his grave. He went back to the surface to get her suitcase and purse and placed both beside their owner. Before rising up to fill in the hole, Tom searched through her purse until he came across her billfold. He scanned through the pictures there in until he found one of he and Genevieve. He took it out and slipped it into his pocket. Although he knew that he probably had little time left on this earth, he wanted to have at least one bit of Genevieve on his person when he died. When he had what he wanted, Tom rose out of the hole and filled it in.

The deed was finished much more quickly than he had expected. Although he had at least an hour left until the sun rose, Tom had hoped that the burial would take longer and leave him at the mercy of the sun. He couldn't wait in the cemetery because someone could easily find him there. He was surprised no one had found him before.

Then again, he had nowhere else to go. He couldn't go to his old home out of the fear of finding a furious Chris. He couldn't hide out in his coffin because he would put himself closer to having to deal with Nicholas Blair or quite possibly Barnabas Collins. Of course, Blair might not be as mad at him as he believed. Any fitting revenge had been enacted on Tom by the Devil's emissary. Besides, he would eventually have to find his way back to his coffin. He had few other choices.

Tom flew back to the House-by-the-Sea, choosing to wander through the forest for awhile before facing the music inside the house. For a few moments, he felt slightly lifted by the cool night air and, for the first time, remembered what he had enjoyed about this life in the first place. But as he approached the house, he was met with a grim reminder of why he hated it. He saw Barnabas Collins hiding behind the trees as he spied on Nicholas Blair and someone who looked to Tom to be the Johnson kid. Once they left the scene, Barnabas made his way out of the woods and entered the home through the unlocked door.

Tom knew why he was there and, for a moment, seethed with pent up rage. If Barnabas only knew what he had been through this night! "Death would be kind," he snarled. It would end the intense suffering; it would throw out the regret and guilt over what had happened. Hell, if it were done correctly, Tom thought that he might actually escape the odd limbo he had found himself in with Barnabas' first hand as Van Helsing. He knew that Mr. Collins would not stop until he found a way to destroy him. He had nothing left to live for; there was no use in running.

Tom left the forest and headed for the house. If Barnabas wanted a fight, he found no need to let him down, but he readily admitted to himself that he would not see the next nightfall. Hopefully, he would be begging Genevieve's forgiveness in the afterlife. He didn't quite know if he deserved such a gift but it didn't hurt to wish.

Before he stepped through the door, Tom took a moment to remind himself of how the stake felt going through the heart. 'It hurts for a few minutes and then there's nothing.' And with one last look at the slightly faded sky, Tom Jennings turned the doorknob and walked inside to meet his fate.

The End


End file.
